By the small confines of Hypaepa there,
Pan to the nymphs his frolic ditties play’d,
Tuning his reeds beneath the checker’d shade.
The nymphs are pleased, the boasting sylvan plays,
And speaks with slight of great Apollo’s lays.
Tmolus was arbiter; the boaster still
Accepts the trial with unequal skill.
The venerable judge was seated high
On his own hill, that seem’d to touch the sky.
Above the whispering trees his head he rears,
From their encumbering boughs to free his ears;
A wreath of oak alone his temples bound,
The pendant acorns loosely dangled round.
“In me, your judge,” says he, “there’s no delay;”
Then bids the goatherd god begin and play.
Pan tuned his pipe, and with his rural song
Pleased the low taste of all the vulgar throng.
Such songs a vulgar judgment mostly please,
Midas was there, and Midas judged with these.
The mountain sire, with grave deportment, now
To Phoebus turns his venerable brow;
And, as he turns, with him the listening wood
In the same posture of attention stood.
The god his own Parnassian laurel crown’d,
And in a wreath his golden tresses bound;
Graceful his purple mantle swept the ground.
High on the left his ivory lute he raised;
The lute, emboss’d with glittering jewels, blazed;
In his right hand he nicely held the quill,
His easy posture spoke a master’s skill;
The strings he touch’d with more than human art,
Which pleased the judge’s ear, and soothed his heart;
Who soon judiciously the palm decreed,
And to the lute postponed the squeaking reed.
All, with applause, the rightful sentence heard,
Midas alone dissatisfied appear’d;
To him unjustly given the judgment seems,
For Pan’s barbaric notes he most esteems.
The lyric god, who thought his untuned ear
Deserved but ill a human form to wear,
Of that deprives him, and supplies the place
With some more fit, and of an ampler space,
Fix’d on his noddle an unseemly pair,
Flagging, and large, and full of whitish hair;
Without a total change from what he was,
Still in the man preserves the simple ass.
He, to conceal the scandal of the deed,
A purple turban folds about his head,
Veils the reproach from public view, and fears
The laughing world would spy his monstrous ears.
One trusty barber slave, that used to dress
His master’s hair, when lengthen’d to excess,
The mighty secret knew, but knew alone,
And, though impatient, durst not make it known.
Restless, at last a private place he found,
Then dug a hole, and told it to the ground;
In a low whisper he reveal’d the case,
And cover’d in the earth, and silent left the place.
In time, of trembling reeds a plenteous crop
From the confided furrow sprouted up,
Which, high advancing with the ripening year,
Made known the tiller, and his fruitless care;
For then the rustling blades and whispering wind
To tell the important secret both combined.
Building of Troy
Apollo and Neptune engage with Laomedon to build the walls of Troy for a stipulated sum, which he refuses to pay: for which breach of faith his territories are laid waste by the encroachments of the sea—He is delivered from the rage of a sea monster by the valour of Hercules, whom he in like manner defrauds: the hero is therefore obliged to besiege Troy, and take it by force of arms.
Phoebus, with full revenge, from Tmolus flies,
Darts through the air, and cleaves the liquid skies;
Near Hellespont he lights, and treads the plains
Where great Laomedon sole monarch reigns;
Where, built between the two projecting strands,
To Panomphaean Jove an altar stands;
Here first aspiring thoughts the king employ
To found the lofty towers of future Troy.
The work, from schemes magnificent begun,
At vast expense, was slowly carried on;
Which Phoebus seeing, with the trident god,
Who rules the swelling surges with his nod,
Assuming each a mortal shape, combine,
At a set price, to finish his design.
The work was built, the king their price denies,
And his injustice backs with perjuries:
This Neptune could not brook, but drove the main,
A mighty deluge, o’er the Phrygian plain;
’Twas all a sea, the waters of the deep
From every vale the copious harvest sweep;
The briny billows overflow the soil,
Ravage the fields, and mock the ploughman’s toil.
Nor this appeased the god’s revengeful mind,
For still a greater plague remains behind;
A huge sea monster lodges on the sands,
And the king’s daughter for his prey demands.
To him, that saved the, damsel, was decreed
A set of horses of the sun’s fine breed;
But, when Alcides from the rock untied
The trembling fair, the ransom was denied.
He, in revenge, the new-built walls attack’d,
And the twice-perjured city bravely sack’d.
Telamon aided; and, in justice, shared
Part of the plunder as his due reward:
The princess, rescued late, with all her charms,
Hesione, was yielded to his arms:
For Peleus, with a goddess bride, was more
Proud of his spouse than of his birth before;
Grandsons to Jove there might be more than one,
But he the goddess had beloved alone.
Story of Thetis and Peleus
Thetis, after assuming various shapes to avoid the importunities of Peleus, is at length compelled to yield her consent to the nuptials.
For Proteus thus to virgin Thetis said:
“Fair goddess of the waves, consent to wed,
And take some sprightly lover to your bed:
A son you’ll have, the terror of the field,
To whom, in fame and power, his sire shall yield.”
Jove, who adored the nymph with boundless love,
Did from his breast the dangerous flame remove;
He knew the fates, nor cared to raise up one
Whose fame and greatness should eclipse his own.
On happy Peleus he bestow’d her charms,
And bless’d his grandson in the goddess’ arms.
A silent creek Thessalia’s coast can show,
Two arms project, and shape it like a bow;
’Twould make a bay, but the transparent tide
Does scarce the yellow-gravell’d bottom hide;
For the quick eye may through the liquid wave
A firm, unweedy, level beach perceive:
A grove of fragrant myrtle near it grows,
Whose boughs, though thick, a beauteous grot disclose;
The well-wrought fabric, to discerning eyes,
Rather by art than nature seems to rise.
A bridled dolphin oft fair Thetis bore
To this her loved retreat, her favourite shore;
Here Peleus seized her, slumbering while she lay,
And urged his suit with all that love could say.
The nymph, o’erpower’d, to art for succour flies,
And various shapes the eager youth surprise;
A bird she seems, but plies her wings in vain,
His hands the fleeting substance still detain;
A branchy tree high in the air she grew,
About
