Arachne drew the famed intrigues of Jove,
Changed to a bull, to gratify his love;
How through the briny tide, all foaming hoar,
Lovely Europa on his back he bore.
The sea seem’d waving, and the trembling maid
Shrunk up her tender feet, as if afraid,
And, looking back on the forsaken strand,
To her companions wafts her distant hand.
Next she design’d Asteria’s fabled rape,
When Jove assumed a soaring eagle’s shape:
And show’d how Leda lay supinely press’d,
While the soft snowy swan sat hovering o’er her breast:
How in a satyr’s form the god beguiled,
When fair Antiope with twins he fill’d:
Then, like Amphitryon, but a real Jove,
In fair Alcmena’s arms he cool’d his love:
In fluid gold to Danae’s heart he came:
Aegina felt him in a lambent flame:
He took Mnemosyne in shepherd’s make
And for Deois was a speckled snake.
She made thee, Neptune, like a wanton steer,
Pacing the meads for love of Arne dear:
Next, like a stream, thy burning flame to slake;
And like a ram, for fair Bisaltis’ sake.
Then Ceres in a steed your vigour tried,
Nor could the mare the yellow goddess hide:
Next, to a fowl transform’d, you won by force
The snake-hair’d mother of the winged horse;
And, in a dolphin’s fishy form, subdued
Melantho sweet, beneath the oozy flood.
All these the maid with lively features drew,
And open’d proper landscapes to the view.
There Phobus, roving like a country swain,
Attunes his jolly pipe along the plain;
For lovely Isso’s sake, in stepherd’s weeds,
O’er pastures green his bleating flock he feeds.
There Bacchus, imaged like the clustering grape,
Melting, bedrops Erigone’s fair lap:
And there old Saturn, stung with youthful heat,
Form’d like a stallion, rushes to the feat.
Fresh flowers, which twists of ivy intertwine,
Mingling a running foliage, close the neat design.
This the bright goddess, passionately moved,
With envy saw, yet inwardly approved.
The scene of heavenly guilt with haste she tore,
Nor longer the affront with patience bore:
A boxen shuttle in her hand she took,
And more than once Arachne’s forehead struck.
The unhappy maid, impatient of the wrong,
Down from a beam her injured person hung;
When Pallas, pitying her wretched state,
At once prevented and pronounced her fate:
“Live; but depend, vile wretch,” the goddess cried,
“Doom’d in suspense for ever to be tied;
That all your race, to utmost date of time,
May feel the vengeance, and detest the crime.”
Then, going off, she sprinkled her with juice,
Which leaves of baneful aconite produced.
Touch’d with the pois’nous drug, her flowing hair
Fell to the ground, and left her temples bare;
Her usual features vanish’d from their place
Her body lessen’d all, but most her face:
Her slender fingers, hanging on each side,
With many joints, the use of legs supplied;
A spider’s bag the rest, from which she gives
A thread, and still by constant weaving lives.
Story of Niobe
Niobe, the daughter of Tantalus, is united in marriage to Amphion, by whom she has seven sons and as many daughters—She has the imprudence to exalt herself above Latona, who entreats her children to punish the arrogant Niobe—Her prayers are heard, and all the sons expire by the shafts of, while the daughters are in like manner destroyed by Diana—Amphion, in despair, puts a period to his existence.
Swift through the Phrygian towns the rumour flies,
And the strange news each female tongue employs:
Niobe, who, before she married, knew
The famous nymph, now found the story true;
Yet, unreclaim’d by poor Arachne’s fate,
Vainly above the gods assumed a state.
Her husband’s fame, their family’s descent,
Their power, and rich dominions’ wide extent,
Might well have justified a decent pride:
But not on these alone the dame relied.
Her lovely progeny, that far excell’d,
The mother’s heart with vain ambition swell’d:
The happiest mother not unjustly styled,
Had no conceited thoughts her tow’ring fancy fill’d.
For once a prophetess, with zeal inspired,
Their slow neglect to warm devotion fired;
Through every street of Thebes who ran possess’d,
And thus, in accents wild, her charge express’d:
“Haste, haste, ye Theban matrons, and adore,
With hallow’d rites, Latona’s mighty power,
And to the heavenly twins that from her spring,
With laurel crown’d, your smoking incense bring.”
Straight the great summons every dame obey’d,
And due submission to the goddess paid:
Graceful, with laurel chaplets dress’d, they came,
And offer’d incense in the sacred flame.
Meanwhile, surrounded with a courtly guard,
The royal Niobe in state appear’d,
Attired in robes embroider’d o’er with gold,
And mad with rage, yet lovely to behold;
Her comely tresses, trembling as she stood,
Down her fine neck with easy motion flow’d;
Then, darting round a proud, disdainful look,
In haughty tone her hasty passion broke,
And thus began: “What madness this, to court
A goddess, founded merely on report?
Dare ye a poor pretended power invoke,
While yet no altars to my godhead smoke?
Mine, whose immediate lineage stands confess’d
From Tantalus, the only mortal guest
That e’er the gods admitted to their feast.
A sister of the Pleiads gave me birth;
And Atlas, mightiest mountain upon earth,
Who bears the globe of all the stars above,
My grandsire was; and Atlas sprung from Jove.
The Theban towns my majesty adore;
And neighb’ring Phrygia trembles at my power;
Raised by my husband’s lute, with turrets crown’d,
Our lofty city stands secured around;
Within my court, where’er I turn my eyes,
Unbounded treasures to my prospect rise;
With these, my face I modestly may name
As not unworthy of so high a claim.
Seven are my daughters, of a form divine,
With seven fair sons, an indefective line.
Go, fools! consider this, and ask the cause
From which my pride its strong presumption draws;
Consider this, and then prefer to me
Caeus the Titan’s vagrant progeny,
To whom, in travail, the whole spacious earth
No room afforded for her spurious birth;
Not the least part in earth, in heaven, or seas,
Would grant your outlaw’d goddess any ease,
Till, pitying hers, from his own wandering case,
Delos, the floating island, gave a place;
There she a mother was of two at most;
Only the seventh part of what I boast.
My joys all are beyond suspicion fix’d,
With no pollutions of misfortune mix’d;
Safe on the basis of my power I stand,
Above the reach of Fortune’s fickle hand;
Lessen she may my inexhausted store,
And much destroy, yet still must leave me more.
Suppose it possible that some may die
Of this my numerous, lovely progeny,
Still with Latona I might safely vie,
Who, by her scanty breed, scarce fit to name,
But just escapes the childless woman’s shame.
Go then, with speed your laurell’d heads uncrown,
And leave the
