To fair Orithyia, courted by a god.
Her father seal’d my hopes with rites divine,
But firmer love before had made her mine.
Men call’d me bless’d, and bless’d I was indeed.
The second month our nuptials did succeed,
When (as upon Hymettus’ dewy head,
For mountain stags, my net betimes I spread)
Aurora spied, and ravish’d me away—
With rev’rence to the goddess, I must say,
Against my will, for Procris had my heart,
Nor would her image from my thoughts depart.
At last, in rage, she cried, ‘Ingrateful boy,
Go to your Procris, take your fatal joy:’
And so dismiss’d me: musing, as I went,
What those expressions of the goddess meant,
A thousand jealous fears possess me now,
Lest Procris had profaned her nuptial vow:
Her youth and charms did to my fancy paint
A lewd adult’ress, but her life a saint:
Yet I was absent long; the goddess too
Taught me how far a woman could be true.
Aurora’s treatment much suspicion bred;
Besides, who truly love ev’n shadows dread.
I straight inpatient for the trial grew,
What courtship back’d with richest gifts could do.
Aurora’s envy aided my design,
And lent me features far unlike to mine.
In this disguise to my own house I came,
But all was chaste, no conscious sign of blame
With thousand arts I scarce admittance found,
And then beheld her weeping on the ground
For her lost husband: hardly I retain’d
My purpose, scarce the wish’d embrace refrain’d.
How charming was her grief! Then, Phocus, guess
What killing beauties waited on her dress.
Her constant answer, when my suit I press’d,
‘Forbear, my lord’s dear image guards this breast;
Where’er he is, whatever cause detains,
Whoe’er has his, my heart unmoved remains.’
What greater proofs of truth than these could be?
Yet I persist, and urge my destiny.
At length she found, when my own form return’d,
Her jealous lover there, whose loss she mourn’d.
Enraged with my suspicion, swift as wind,
She fled at once from me and all mankind;
And so became, her purpose to retain,
A nymph, and huntress in Diana’s train.
Forsaken thus, I found my flames increase
I own’d my folly, and I sued for peace:
It was a fault, but not of guilt, to move
Such punishment—a fault of too much love.
Thus I retrieved her to my longing arms,
And many happy days possess’d her charms:
But with herself she kindly did confer
What gifts the goddess had bestow’d on her:
The fleetest greyhound, with this lovely dart—
And I of both have wonders to impart.
Near Thebes a savage beast, of race unknown,
Laid waste the field, and bore the vineyards down:
The swains fled from him; and, with one consent,
Our Grecian youth to chase the monster went.
More swift than lightning he the toils surpass’d,
And in his course spears, men, and trees, o’ercast.
We slipp’d our dogs, and last my Lelaps too,
When none of all the mortal race would do:
He long before was struggling from my hands,
And, ere we could unloose him, broke his bands:
That minute where he was we could not find,
And only saw the dust he left behind.
I climb’d a neighbouring hill to view the chase,
While in the plain they held an equal race:
The savage now seems caught, and now, by force,
To quit himself, nor holds the same straight course,
But, running counter, from the foe withdraws,
And with short turning cheats his gaping jaws;
Which he retrieves, and still so closely press’d,
You’d fear at every stretch he were possess’d;
Yet for the gripe his fangs in vain prepare—
The game shoots from him, and he chops the air.
To cast my javelin then I took my stand;
But as the thongs were fitting to my hand,
While to the valley I o’erlook’d the wood,
Before my eyes two marble statues stood;
That, as pursued appearing at full stretch,
This, barking after, and at point to catch:
Some god their course did with this wonder grace,
That neither might be conquer’d in the chase.”
A sudden silence here his tongue suppress’d,
He here stops short, and fain would wave the rest.
The eager prince then urged him to impart
The fortune that attended on the dart.
“First then,” said he, “past joys let me relate;
For bliss was the foundation of my fate:
No language can those happy hours express,
Did from our nuptials me and Procris bless:
The kindest pair! What more could Heaven confer?
For she was all to me, and I to her.
Had Jove made love, great Jove had been despised;
And I my Procris more than Venus prized.
Thus while no other joy we did aspire,
We grew at last one soul and one desire.
Forth to the woods I went at break of day
(The constant practice of my youth), for prey;
Nor yet for servant, horse, or dog, did call—
I found this single dart to serve for all.
With slaughter tired, I sought the cooler shade,
And winds that from the mountains pierced the glade.
‘Come, gentle air,’ so was I wont to say,
‘Come, gentle air—sweet Aura, come away.’
This always was the burden of my song—
‘Come ’suage my flames—sweet Aura, come along:
Thou always art most welcome to my breast;
I faint; approach, thou dearest, kindest guest!’
These blandishments, and more than these, I said
(By Fate to unsuspected ruin led).
‘Thou art my joy; for thy dear sake I love
Each desert hill and solitary grove;
When (faint with labour) I refreshment need,
For cordials on thy fragrant breath I feed.’
At last a wandering swain in hearing came,
And, cheated with the sound of Aura’s name,
He thought I had some assignation made,
And to my Procris’ ear the news convey’d.
Great love is soonest with suspicion fired:
She swoon’d, and with the tale almost expired.
‘Ah, wretched heart!’ she cried, ‘ah, faithless man!’
And then to curse the imagined nymph began:
Yet oft she doubts, oft hopes she is deceived,
And chides herself, that ever she believed
Her lord to such injustice could proceed,
Till she herself were witness of the deed.
Next morn I to the woods again repair,
And, weary with the chase, invoke the air.
‘Approach, dear Aura, and my bosom cheer:’
At which a mournful sound did strike my ear:
Yet I proceeded, till the thicket by,
With rustling noise and motion, drew my eye.
I thought some beast of prey was shelter’d there,
And to the covert threw my certain spear;
From whence a tender sigh my soul did wound:
‘Ah me!’ it cried, and did like Procris sound.
Procris was there, too well the voice I knew,
And to the place with headlong
