Consults the sage Tiresias; who replies,
“If e’er he knows himself he surely dies.”
Long lived the dubious mother in suspense,
Till time unriddled all the prophet’s sense.
Narcissus now his sixteenth year began,
Just turn’d of boy, and on the verge of man;
Many a friend the blooming youth caress’d,
Many a lovesick maid in vain her flame confess’d,
Such was his pride, in vain the friend caress’d,
The lovesick maid in vain her flame confess’d.
Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase,
The babbling Echo had descried his face,
She, who in other words her silence breaks,
Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.
Echo was then a maid of speech bereft,
Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left,
Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
To sport with every sentence in the close.
Full often when the goddess might have caught
Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
This nymph with subtle stories would delay
Her coming, till the lovers slipp’d away.
The goddess found out the deceit in time,
And then she cried, “That tongue, for this thy crime,
Which could so many subtle tales produce,
Shall be hereafter but of little use.”
Hence ’tis she prattles in a fairer tone,
With mimic sounds and accents not her own.
This lovesick virgin, overjoy’d to find
The boy alone, still follow’d him behind;
When glowing warmly at her near approach,
As sulphur blazes at the taper’s touch,
She long’d her hidden passion to reveal
And tell her pains, but had not words to tell;
She can’t begin, but waits for the rebound
To catch his voice, and to return the sound.
The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
Still dash’d with blushes for her slighted love,
Lived in the shady covert of the woods,
In solitary caves and dark abodes,
Where pining wander’d the rejected fair,
Till harass’d out and worn away with care,
The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Besides her bones and voice, had nothing left.
Her bones are petrified, her voice is found
In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.
Story of Narcissus
A handsome youth, named Narcissus, beholding his face reflected in a fountain, becomes enamoured with it, and wastes away with grief—After his death the Naiads raise a funeral pile to burn his body, when they find nothing but a beautiful flower, which still bears his name.
Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy,
He still was lovely, but he still was coy,
When one fair virgin of the slighted train
Thus pray’d the gods, provoked by his disdain:
“O! may he love like me, and love like me in vain!”
Rhamnusia pitied the neglected fair,
And with just vengeance answer’d to her prayer.
There stands a fountain in a darksome wood,
Nor stain’d with falling leaves, nor rising mud,
Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts;
High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
And rising grass and cheerful greens below.
Pleased with the form and coolness of the place,
And overheated by the morning chase,
Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies;
But while within the crystal fount he tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heat arise:
For, as his own bright image he survey’d,
He fell in love with the fantastic shade,
And o’er the fair resemblance hung unmoved;
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved.
The well-turn’d neck and shoulders he descries,
The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes,
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo’s head might flow,
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the watery glass.
By his own flames consumed the lover lies,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he slips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
What kindled in thee this unpitied love?
Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour’d shadow comes and goes,
Its empty being on thyself relies;
Step thou aside and the frail charmer dies.
Still o’er the fountain’s watery gleam he stood,
Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food,
Still view’d his face, and languish’d as he view’d.
At length he raised his head, and thus began
To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain:
“You trees,” says he, “and thou surrounding grove,
Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
Tell me, if e’er within your shades did lie
A youth so tortured, so perplex’d as I?
I, who before me see the charming fair,
While there he stands, and yet he stands not there:
In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost;
And yet no bulwark’d town nor distant coast
Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
No mountains rise nor oceans flow between;
A shallow water hinders my embrace,
And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint;
Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
My charms an easy conquest have obtain’d
O’er other hearts, by thee alone disdain’d.
But why should I despair? I’m sure he burns
With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
Whene’er I stoop, he offers at a kiss,
And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his;
His eyes with pleasure on my face he keeps,
He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps:
Whene’er I speak his moving lips appear
To utter something, which I cannot hear.
“Ah, wretched me! I now begin too late
To find out all the long perplex’d deceit;
It is myself I love, myself I see,
The gay delusion is a part of me;
I kindle up the fires by which I burn,
And my own beauties from the well return.
Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?
Enjoyment but produces my restraint,
And too much plenty makes me die for want.
How gladly would I from myself remove!
And at a distance set the thing I love;
My breast is warm’d with such unusual fire,
I wish him absent whom I most desire;
And now I faint with grief, my fate draws nigh,
In all the pride of blooming youth I die.
Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
O! might the visionary youth survive,
I should with joy my latest breath resign!
But, oh! I see his fate involved
