Among the satyrs in the shady grove,
Olympus, known of old, and every swain
That fed, or flock, or herd, upon the plain,
Bewail’d the loss, and with their tears, that flow’d,
A kindly moisture on the earth bestow’d,
That soon, conjoin’d and in a body ranged,
Sprung from the ground, to limpid water changed;
Which, down through Phrygia’s rocks, a mighty stream,
Comes tumbling to the sea, and Marsya is its name.
Story of Pelops
Pelops, the son of Tantalus, is murdered by his father, and served up in an entertainment to the gods, to make trial of their divinity—Jupiter discovers the perfidious cruelty, and restores Pelops to life—Part of the shoulder, which Ceres incautiously devoured, is supplied by a substitute made of ivory.
From these relations straight the people turn
To present truths, and lost Amphion mourn;
The mother most was blamed, yet some relate
That Pelops pitied and bewail’d her fate,
And stripp’d his clothes, and laid his shoulder bare
And made the ivory miracle appear.
This shoulder, from the first, was form’d of flesh,
As lively as the other, and as fresh;
But, when the youth was by his father slain,
The gods restored his mangled limbs again;
Only that place which joins the neck and arm,
The rest untouch’d, was found to suffer harm;
The loss of which an ivory piece sustain’d;
And thus the youth his limbs and life regain’d.
Story of Tereus, Procne, and Philomela
Procne, the wife of Tereus, king of Thrace, revenges the injuries which her sister Philomela has sustained from her husband on her son Itys, whom she sacrifices to her resentment, and serves as a dish at the table of his father, who partakes of the horrible repast without suspicion, till Philomela appears with the head of the unfortunate youth—The monarch draws his sword, and pursues the two sisters, when he is transformed into a lapwing, Philomela into a nightingale, Procne into a swallow, and Itys into a pheasant.
To Thebes the neighb’ring princes all repair,
And with condolence the misfortune share.
Each bord’ring state in solemn form address’d,
And each, betimes, a friendly grief express’d;
Argos, with Sparta’s and Mycenae’s towns,
And Calydon, yet free from fierce Diana’s frowns;
Corinth for finest brass well famed of old;
Orchomenos for men of courage bold;
Cleonae lying in the lowly dale;
And rich Messene with its fertile vale;
Pylos for Nestor’s city after famed;
And Troezen, not as yet from Pittheus named;
And those fair cities, which are hemm’d around
By double seas within the Isthmian ground;
And those which farther from the seacoast stand,
Lodged in the bosom of the spacious land.
Who can believe it? Athens was the last,
Though for politeness famed for ages past:
For a strait siege, which then their walls enclosed,
Such acts of kind humanity opposed:
And thick with ships, from foreign nations bound,
Seaward their city lay invested round.
These, with auxiliar forces led from far,
Tereus of Thrace, brave, and inured to war,
Had quite defeated, and obtain’d a name,
The warrior’s due, among the sons of fame.
This, with his wealth, and power, and ancient line,
From Mars derived, Pandion’s thoughts incline
His daughter Procne with the prince to join.
Nor Hymen, nor the Graces, here preside,
Nor Juno, to befriend the blooming bride;
But fiends with funeral brands the process led,
And furies waited at the genial bed;
And, all night long, the screeching owl aloof,
With baleful notes, sat brooding o’er the roof.
With such ill omens was the match begun,
That made them parents of a hopeful son.
Now Thrace congratulates their seeming joy,
And they, in thankful rites, their minds employ:
If the fair queen’s espousals pleased before,
Itys, the newborn prince, now pleases more;
And each bright day the birth and bridal feast
Were kept with hallow’d pomp above the rest.
So far true happiness may lie conceal’d,
When, by false lights, we fancy ’tis reveal’d!
Now, since their nuptials, had the golden sun
Five courses round his ample zodiac run,
When gentle Procne thus her lord address’d,
And spoke the secret wishes of her breast:
“If I,” she said, “have ever favour found,
Let my petition with success be crown’d.
Let me at Athens my dear sister see;
Or, let her come to Thrace and visit me;
And, lest my father should her absence mourn,
Promise that she shall make a quick return.
With thanks I’d own the obligation due,
Only, O Tereus, to the gods and you.”
Now, plied with oar and sail at his command,
The nimble galleys reach’d the Athenian land,
And anchor’d in the famed Piraean bay,
While Tereus to the palace takes his way;
The king salutes, and, ceremonies pass’d,
Begins the fatal embassy at last:
The occasion of his voyage he declares,
And, with his own, his wife’s request prefers;
Asks leave that, only for a little space,
Their lovely sister might embark for Thrace.
Thus, while he spoke, appear’d the royal maid,
Bright Philomela, splendidly array’d;
But most attractive in her charming face,
And comely person, turn’d with ev’ry grace:
Like those fair nymphs that are described to rove
Across the glades and op’nings of the grove;
Only that these are dress’d for sylvan sports,
And less become the finery of courts.
Tereus beheld the virgin, and admired,
And with the coals of burning love was fired;
Like crackling stubble, or the summer hay,
When forked lightnings o’er the meadows play.
Such charms in any breast might kindle love,
But him the heats of inbred passion move,
To which, though Thrace is naturally prone,
Yet his is still superior, and his own.
Straight her attendants he designs to buy,
And with large bribes her governess would try;
Herself with ample gifts resolves to bend,
And his whole kingdom in the attempt expend;
Or, snatch’d away, by force of arms to bear,
And justify the act with open war.
The boundless passion boils within his breast,
And his projecting soul admits no rest.
And now, impatient of the least delay,
By pleading Procne’s cause, he speeds his way:
The eloquence of love his tongue inspires,
And, in his wife’s, he speaks his own desires;
Hence all his importunities arise,
And tears unmanly trickle from his eyes.
Ye gods! what thick involving darkness blinds
The stupid faculties of mortal minds!
Tereus the credit of good-nature gains
From these his crimes; so well the villain feigns,
And, unsuspecting of his base designs,
In the request fair Philomela joins;
Her snowy arms her aged sire embrace,
And clasp his neck with an endearing grace:
Only to see her sister she entreats,
A seeming blessing, which a curse completes.
Tereus surveys her with a luscious eye,
And in
