As when in youth he paid his visit there.
In his right hand an olive-branch he holds,
And, salutation pass’d, the chief unfolds
His embassy from the Athenian state,
Their mutual friendship, leagues of ancient date,
Their common danger; ev’ry thing could wake
Concern, and his address successful make;
Strength’ning his plea with all the charms of sense,
And those, with all the charms of eloquence.
Then thus the king: “Like suiters do you stand
For that assistance which you may command?
Athenians, all our listed forces use
(They’re such as no bold service will refuse);
And when ye’ve drawn them off, the gods be praised,
Fresh legions can within our isle be raised;
So stock’d with people, that we can prepare
Both for domestic and for distant war,
Ours or our friends’ insulters to chastise.”
“Long may he flourish thus,” the prince replies.
“Strange transport seized me as I pass’d along,
To meet so many troops and all so young,
As if your army did of twins consist;
Yet among them my late acquaintance miss’d;
Ev’n all that to your palace did resort,
When first you entertain’d me at your court;
And cannot guess the cause from whence could spring
So vast a change.” Then thus the sighing king:
“Illustrious guest, to my strange tale attend,
Of sad beginning, but a joyful end:
The whole to a vast history would swell;
I shall but half, and that confusedly, tell.
That race whom so deservedly you admired
Are all into their silent tombs retired:
They fell, and falling, how they shook my state,
Thought may conceive, but words can ne’er relate.”
Story of Ants Changed to Men
King Aeacus relates to Cephalus that a pestilence having formerly depopulated his territories, he entreated Jupiter to repeople his kingdom—His request was granted, and, according to his desire, all the ants in an old oak were changed into men, and called by Aeacus Myrmidons, from a Greek word signifying an ant.
“A dreadful plague from angry Juno came,
To scourge the land that bore her rival’s name.
Before her fatal anger was reveal’d,
And teeming malice lay as yet conceal’d,
All remedies we try, all med’cines use,
Which nature could supply, or art produce;
The unconquer’d foe derides the vain design,
And art and nature foil’d, declare the cause divine.
“At first we only felt the oppressive weight
Of gloomy clouds, then teeming with our fate,
And lab’ring to discharge unactive heat:
But ere four moons alternate changes knew,
With deadly blasts the fatal south wind blew,
Infected all the air, and poison’d as it flew
Our fountains too a dire infection yield,
For crowds of vipers creep along the field,
And, with polluted gore, and baneful steams,
Taint all the lakes, and venom all the streams.
“The young disease with milder force began,
And raged on birds and beasts, excusing man.
The lab’ring oxen fall before the plough;
The unhappy ploughmen stare, and wonder how:
The tabid sheep, with sickly bleatings, pines,
Its wool decreasing as its strength declines:
The warlike steed, by inward foes compell’d,
Neglects his honours, and deserts the field,
Unnerved and languid, seeks a base retreat,
And at the manger groans, but wish’d a nobler fate:
The stags forget their speed, the boars their rage,
Nor can the bears the stronger herds engage;
A general faintness does invade them all,
And in the woods and fields promiscuously they fall
The air receives the stench, and, strange to say,
The rav’nous birds and beasts avoid the prey;
The offensive bodies rot upon the ground,
And spread the dire contagion all around.
“But now the plague, grown to a larger size,
Riots on man, and scorns a meaner prize.
Intestine heats begin the civil war,
And flushings first the latent flame declare,
And breath inspired, which seem’d like fiery air.
Their black dry tongues are swell’d, and scarce can move,
And short thick sighs from panting lungs are drove;
They gape for air, with flattering hopes to abate
Their raging flames, but that augments their heat.
No bed, no covering, can the wretches bear,
But on the ground, exposed to open air,
They lie, and hope to find a pleasing coolness there.
The suffering earth, with that oppression cursed,
Returns the heat which they imparted first.
“In vain physicians would bestow their aid,
Vain all their art, and useless all their trade;
And they, even they, who fleeting life recall,
Feel the same powers, and undistinguish’d fall.
If any proves so daring to attend
His sick companion, or his darling friend,
The officious wretch sucks in contagious breath,
And with his friend does sympathize in death.
“And now the care and hopes of life are pass’d,
They please their fancies and indulge their taste:
At brooks and streams, regardless of their shame,
Each sex, promiscuous, strives to quench their flame;
Nor do they strive in vain to quench it there,
For thirst and life at once extinguish’d are.
Thus in the brooks the dying bodies sink,
But heedless still the rash survivers drink.
“So much uneasy down the wretches hate,
They fly their beds, to struggle with their fate,
But if decaying strength forbids to rise,
The victim crawls and rolls, till on the ground he lies:
Each shuns his bed as each would shun his tomb,
And thinks the infection only lodged at home.
“Here one, with fainting steps, does slowly creep
O’er heaps of dead, and straight augments the heap:
Another, while his strength and tongue prevail’d,
Bewails his friend, and falls himself, bewail’d:
This, with imploring looks, surveys the skies,
The last dear office of his closing eyes,
But finds the heavens implacable, and dies.
“What now, ah, what! empioy’d my troubled mind,
But only hopes my subjects’ fate to find?
What place soe’er my weeping eyes survey,
There in lamented heaps the vulgar lay;
As acorns scatter when the winds prevail,
Or mellow fruit from shaken branches fall.
“You see that dome which rears its front so high.
’Tis sacred to the monarch of the sky:
How many there, with unregarded tears,
And fruitless vows, sent up successless prayers!
There fathers for expiring sons implored,
And there the wife bewail’d her gasping lord:
With pious offerings they appease the skies,
But they, ere yet the atoning vapours rise,
Before the altars fall, themselves a sacrifice;
They fall while yet their hands the gums contain,
Their gums surviving, but their offerer’s slain.
“The destined ox, with holy garlands crown’d,
Prevents the blow, and feels an unexpected wound.
When I myself invoked the powers divine,
To drive the fatal pest from me and mine:
When now the priest with hands uplifted stood,
Prepared to strike, and shed the sacred blood,
The gods themselves the mortal stroke bestow,
The victim falls,
