I will remember and express the praise
Of heaven’s Far-darter, the fair King of days,
Whom even the Gods themselves fear when he goes
Through Jove’s high house; and when his goodly bows
He goes to bend, all from their thrones arise,
And cluster near, t’ admire his faculties.
Only Latona stirs not from her seat
Close by the Thund’rer, till her Son’s retreat
From his dread archery; but then she goes,
Slackens his string, and shuts his quiver close,
And (having taken to her hand his bow,
From off his able shoulders) doth bestow
Upon a pin of gold the glorious tiller,
The pin of gold fix’d in his father’s pillar.
Then doth She to his throne his state uphold,
Where his great Father, in a cup of gold,
Serves him with nectar, and shows all the grace
Of his great son. Then th’ other Gods take place;
His gracious mother glorying to bear
So great an archer, and a son so clear.
All hail, O blest Latona! to bring forth
An issue of such all-out-shining worth,
Royal Apollo, and the Queen that loves
The hurls of darts. She in th’ Ortygian groves,
And he in cliffy Delos, leaning on
The lofty Oros, and being built upon
By Cynthus’ prominent, that his head rears
Close to the palm that Inops’ fluent cheers.
How shall I praise thee, far being worthiest praise,
O Phoebus? To whose worth the law of lays
In all kinds is ascrib’d, if feeding flocks
By continent or isle. All eminent’st rocks
Did sing for joy, hill-tops, and floods in song
Did break their billows, as they flow’d along
To serve the sea; the shores, the seas, and all
Did sing as soon as from the lap did fall
Of blest Latona thee the joy of man.
Her child-bed made the mountain Cynthian
In rocky Delos, the sea-circled isle,
On whose all sides the black seas brake their pile,
And overflow’d for joy, so frank a gale
The singing winds did on their waves exhale.
Here born, all mortals live in thy commands,
Whoever Crete holds, Athens, or the strands
Of th’ isle Ægina, or the famous land
For ships (Euboea), or Eresia,
Or Peparethus bord’ring on the sea,
Ægas, or Athos that doth Thrace divide
And Macedon; or Pelion, with the pride
Of his high forehead; or the Samian isle,
That likewise lies near Thrace; or Scyrus’ soil;
Ida’s steep tops; or all that Phocis fill;
Or Autocanes, with the heaven-high hill;
Or populous Imber; Lemnos without ports;
Or Lesbos, fit for the divine resorts;
And sacred soil of blest Æolion;
Or Chios that exceeds comparison
For fruitfulness; with all the isles that lie
Embrac’d with seas; Mimas, with rocks so high;
Or lofty-crown’d Corycius; or the bright
Charos; or ÆsagÆus’ dazzling height;
Or watery Samos; Mycale, that bears
Her brows even with the circles of the spheres;
Miletus; Cous, that the city is
Of voice-divided-choice humanities;
High Cnidus; Carpathus, still strook with wind;
Naxos, and Paros; and the rocky-min’d
Rugged RhenÆa. Yet through all these parts
Latona, great-grown with the King of darts,
Travell’d; and tried if any would become
To her dear birth an hospitable home.
All which extremely trembled, shook with fear,
Nor durst endure so high a birth to bear
In their free states, though, for it, they became
Never so fruitful; till the reverend Dame
Ascended Delos, and her soil did seize
With these wing’d words: “O Delos! Wouldst thou please
To be my son Apollo’s native seat,
And build a wealthy fane to one so great,
No one shall blame or question thy kind deed.
Nor think I, thou dost sheep or oxen feed
In any such store, or in vines exceed,
Nor bring’st forth such innumerable plants,
Which often make the rich inhabitants
Careless of Deity. If thou then shouldst rear
A fane to Phoebus, all men would confer
Whole hecatombs of beeves for sacrifice,
Still thronging hither; and to thee would rise
Ever unmeasur’d odours, shouldst thou long
Nourish thy King thus; and from foreign wrong
The Gods would guard thee; which thine own address
Can never compass for thy barrenness.”
She said, and Delos joy’d, replying thus:
“Most happy sister of Saturnius!
I gladly would with all means entertain
The King your son, being now despised of men,
But should be honour’d with the greatest then.
Yet this I fear, nor will conceal from thee:
Your son, some say, will author misery
In many kinds, as being to sustain
A mighty empire over Gods and men,
Upon the holy-gift-giver the Earth.
And bitterly I fear that, when his birth
Gives him the sight of my so barren soil,
He will contemn, and give me up to spoil,
Enforce the sea to me, that ever will
Oppress my heart with many a wat’ry hill.
And therefore let him choose some other land,
Where he shall please, to build at his command
Temple and grove, set thick with many a tree.
For wretched polypuses breed in me
Retiring chambers, and black sea-calves den
In my poor soil, for penury of men.
And yet, O Goddess, wouldst thou please to swear
The Gods’ great oath to me, before thou bear
Thy blessed son here, that thou wilt erect
A fane to him, to render the effect
Of men’s demands to them before they fall,
Then will thy son’s renown be general,
Men will his name in such variety call,
And I shall then be glad his birth to bear.”
This said, the Gods’ great oath she thus did swear:
“Know this, O Earth! broad heaven’s inferior sphere,
And of black Styx the most infernal lake,
(Which is the gravest oath the Gods can take)
That here shall ever rise to Phoebus’ name
An odorous fane and altar; and thy fame
Honour, past all isles else, shall see him employ’d.”
Her oath thus took and ended, Delos joy’d
in mighty measure that she should become
To far-shot Phoebus’ birth the famous home.
Latona then nine days and nights did fall
In hopeless labour; at whose birth were all
Heaven’s most supreme and worthy Goddesses,
Dione, RhÆa, and th’ Exploratress
Themis, and Amphitrite that will be
Pursu’d with sighs still; every Deity,
Except the snowy-wristed wife of Jove,
Who held her moods aloft, and would not move;
Only Lucina (to whose virtue vows
Each childbirth patient) heard not of her throes,
But sat, by Juno’s counsel, on the brows
Of broad Olympus, wrapp’d in clouds of gold.
Whom Jove’s proud wife in envy did withhold,
Because bright-lock’d Latona was to bear
A son so faultless and in force so clear.
The rest Thaumantia sent before, to bring
Lucina to release the envied king,
Assuring her, that they would straight confer
A carcanet, nine cubits long, on her,
All woven with wires of gold. But charg’d her, then,
To call apart from th’ ivory-wristed Queen
The childbirth-guiding Goddess, for just fear
Lest, her charge utter’d in Saturnia’s ear,
She, after, might dissuade her from descent.
When wind-swift-footed Iris knew th’ intent
Of th’ other Goddesses, away she went,
And instantly she pass’d the infinite space
’Twixt earth and heaven; when, coming to the place
Where dwelt th’ Immortals, straight without the gate
She gat Lucina, and did all relate
The Goddesses commanded, and inclin’d
To all that they demanded her dear mind.
And on their way they went, like those two doves
That, walking highways, every shadow moves
Up from the earth, forc’d with their natural fear.
When ent’ring Delos, She, that is so dear
To dames in labour, made Latona straight
Prone to delivery, and to wield the weight
Of her dear burthen with a world of ease.
When, with her fair hand, she a palm did seize,
And, staying her by it, stuck her tender knees
Amidst the soft mead, that did smile beneath
Her sacred labour; and the child did breathe
The air in th’ instant. All the Goddesses
Brake in kind tears and shrieks for her quick ease,
And thee, O archer Phoebus, with waves clear
Wash’d sweetly over, swaddled with sincere
And spotless swathbands; and made then to flow
About thy breast a mantle, white as snow,
Fine, and new made; and cast a veil of gold
Over thy forehead. Nor yet forth did hold
Thy mother for thy food her golden breast,
But Themis, in supply of it, address’d
Lovely Ambrosia, and drunk off to thee
A bowl of nectar, interchangeably
With her immortal fingers serving thine.
And when, O Phoebus, that eternal wine
Thy taste had relish’d, and that food divine,
No golden swathband longer could contain
Thy panting bosom; all that would constrain
Thy soon-eas’d Godhead, every feeble chain
Of earthy child-rites, flew in sunder all.
And then didst thou thus to the Deities call:
“Let there be given me my lov’d lute and bow,
I’ll prophesy to men, and make them know
Jove’s perfect counsels.” This said, up did fly
From broad-way’d Earth the unshorn Deity,
Far-shot Apollo. All th’ Immortals stood
In steep amaze to see Latona’s brood.
All Delos, looking on him, all with gold
Was loaden straight, and joy’d to be extoll’d
By great Latona so, that she decreed
Her barrenness should bear the fruitful’st seed
Of all the isles and continents of earth,
And lov’d her from her heart so for her birth.
For so she flourish’d, as a hill that stood
Crown’d with the flow’r of an abundant wood.
And thou, O Phoebus, bearing in thy hand
Thy silver bow, walk’st over every land,
Sometimes ascend’st the rough-hewn rocky hill
Of desolate Cynthus, and sometimes tak’st will
To visit islands, and the plumps of men.
And many a temple, all ways, men ordain
To thy bright Godhead; groves, made dark with trees,
And never shorn, to hide the Deities,
All high-lov’d prospects, all the steepest brows
Of far-seen hills, and every flood that flows
Forth to the sea, are dedicate to thee.
But most of all thy mind’s alacrity
Is rais’d with Delos; since, to fill thy fane,
There flocks so many an Ionian,
With ample gowns that flow down to their feet,
With all their children, and the reverend sweet
Of all their pious wives. And these are they
That (mindful of thee) even thy Deity
Render more spritely with their champion fight,
Dances, and songs, perform’d to glorious sight,
Once having publish’d, and proclaim’d their strife.
And these are acted with such exquisite life
That one would say, “Now, the Ionian strains
Are turn’d Immortals, nor know what age means.”
His mind would take such pleasure from his eye,
To see them serv’d by all mortality,
Their men so human, women so well grac’d,
Their ships so swift, their riches so increas’d,
Since thy observance, who, being all before
Thy opposites, were all despis’d and poor.
And to all these this absolute wonder add,
Whose praise shall render all posterities glad:
The Delian virgins are thy handmaids all,
And, since they serv’d Apollo, jointly fall
Before Latona, and Diana too,
In sacred service, and do therefore know
How to make mention of the ancient trims
Of men and women, in their well-made hymns,
And soften barbarous nations with their songs,
Being able all to speak the several tongues
Of foreign nations, and to imitate
Their musics there, with art so fortunate
That one would say, there everyone did speak,
And all their tunes in natural accents break,
Their songs so well compos’d are, and their art
To answer all sounds is of such desert.
But come, Latona, and thou King of flames,
With Phoebe, rect’ress of chaste thoughts in dames
Let me salute ye, and your graces call
Hereafter to my just memorial.
And you, O Delian virgins, do me grace,
When any stranger of our earthy race,
Whose restless life affliction hath in chace,
Shall hither come and question you, who is,
To your chaste ears, of choicest faculties
In sacred poesy, and with most right
Is author of your absolut’st delight,
Ye shall yourselves do all the right ye can
To answer for our name:—“The sightless man
Of stony Chios. All whose poems shall
In all last ages stand for capital.”
This for your own sakes I desire, for I
Will propagate mine own precedency
As far as earth shall well-built cities bear,
Or human conversation is held dear,
Not with my praise direct, but praises due,
And men shall credit it, because ’tis true.
However, I’ll not cease the praise I vow
To far-shot Phoebus with the silver bow,
Whom lovely-hair’d Latona gave the light.
O King! both Lycia is in rule thy right,
Fair Moeony, and the maritimal
Miletus, wish’d to be the seat of all.
But chiefly Delos, girt with billows round,
Thy most respected empire doth resound.
Where thou to Pythus went’st, to answer there,
As soon as thou wert born, the burning ear
Of many a far-come, to hear future deeds,
Clad in divine and odoriferous weeds,
And with thy golden fescue play’dst upon
Thy hollow harp, that sounds to heaven set gone.
Then to Olympus swift as thought he flew,
To Jove’s high house, and had a retinue
Of Gods t’ attend him; and then straight did fall
To study of the harp, and harpsical,
All th’ Immortals. To whom every Muse
With ravishing voices did their answers use,
Singing th’ eternal deeds of Deity,
And from their hands what hells of misery
Poor humans suffer, living desperate quite,
And not an art they have, wit, or deceit,
Can make them manage any act aright,
Nor find, with all the soul they can engage,
A salve for death, or remedy for age.
But here the fair-hair’d Graces, the wise Hours,
Harmonia, Hebe, and sweet Venus’ pow’rs,
Danc’d, and each other’s palm to palm did cling.
And with these danc’d not a deformed thing,
No forespoke dwarf, nor downward witherling,
But all with wond’rous goodly forms were deckt,
And mov’d with beauties of unpriz’d aspect.
Dart-dear Diana, even with Phoebus bred,
Danc’d likewise there; and Mars a march did tread
With that brave bevy. In whose consort fell
Argicides, th’ ingenious sentinel.
Phoebus-Apollo touch’d his lute to them
Sweetly and softly, a most glorious beam
Casting about him, as he danc’d and play’d,
And even his feet were all with rays array’d;
His weed and all of a most curious trim
With no less lustre grac’d and circled him.
By these Latona, with a hair that shin’d
Like burnish’d gold, and, with the mighty mind;
Heaven’s counsellor, Jove, sat with delightsome eyes;
To see their son new rank’d with Deities.
How shall I praise thee, then, that art all praise?
Amongst the brides shall I thy Deity raise?
Or being in love, when sad thou went’st to woo
The virgin Aza, and didst overthrow
The even-with-Gods, Elation’s mighty seed,
That had of goodly horse so brave a breed,
And Phorbas, son of sovereign Triopus,
Valiant Leucippus, and Ereutheus,
And Triopus himself with equal fall,
Thou but on foot, and they on horseback all?
Or shall I sing thee, as thou first didst grace
Earth with thy foot, to find thee forth a place
Fit to pronounce thy oracles to men?
First from Olympus thou alightedst then
Into Pieria, passing all the land
Of fruitless Lesbos, chok’d with drifts of sand,
The Magnets likewise, and the PerrhÆbes;
And to Iolcus variedst thy access,
CenÆus’ tops ascending, that their base
Make bright Euboea, being of ships the grace,
And fix’d thy fair stand in Lelantus’ field,
That did not yet thy mind’s contentment yield
To raise a fane on, and a sacred grove.
Passing Euripus then, thou mad’st remove
Up to earth’s ever-green and holiest hill.
Yet swiftly thence, too, thou transcendedst still
To Mycalessus, and didst touch upon
Teumessus, apt to make green couches on,
And flowery field-beds. Then thy progress found
Thebes out, whose soil with only woods was crown’d,
For yet was sacred Thebes no human seat,
And therefore were no paths nor highways beat
On her free bosom, that flows now with wheat,
But then she only wore on it a wood.
From hence (even loth to part, because it stood
Fit for thy service) thou putt’st on remove
To green Onchestus, Neptune’s glorious grove,
Where new-tam’d horse, bred, nourish nerves so rare
That still they frolic, though they travell’d are
Never so sore, and hurry after them
Most heavy coaches, but are so extreme
(In usual travel) fiery and free,
That though their coachman ne’er so masterly
Governs their courages, he sometimes must
Forsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust,
When after them their empty coach they draw,
Foaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe.
And if their coachman guide through any grove
Unshorn, and vow’d to any Deity’s love,
The lords encoach’d leap out, and all their care
Use to allay their fires, with speaking fair
Stroking and trimming them, and in some queach,
Or strength of shade, within their nearest reach,
Reining them up, invoke the deified King
Of that unshorn and everlasting spring,
And leave them then to her preserving hands,
Who is the Fate that there the God commands.
And this was first the sacred fashion there.
From hence thou went’st, O thou in shafts past peer,
And found’st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams,
Whose flood affects so many silver streams,
And from LilÆus pours so bright a wave.
Yet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gave
The view of Ocale the rich in tow’rs;
Then to Amartus that abounds in flow’rs,
Then to Delphusa putt’st thy progress on,
Whose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon;
And there thy pleasure would a fane adorn,
And nourish woods whose shades should ne’er be shorn.
Where this thou told’st her, standing to her close:
“Delphusa, here I entertain suppose
To build a far-fam’d temple, and ordain
An oracle t’ inform the minds of men,
Who shall for ever offer to my love
Whole hecatombs; even all the men that move
In rich Peloponnesus, and all those
Of Europe, and the isles the seas enclose,
Whom future search of acts and beings brings.
To whom I’ll prophesy the truths of things
In that rich temple where my oracle sings.”
This said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow,
The fane’s divine foundations did foreshow;
Ample they were, and did huge length impart,
With a continuate tenour, full of art.
But when Delphusa look’d into his end,
Her heart grew angry, and did thus extend
Itself to Phoebus: “Phoebus, since thy mind
A far-fam’d fane hath in itself design’d
To bear an oracle to men in me,
That hecatombs may put in fire to thee,
This let me tell thee, and impose for stay
Upon thy purpose: Th’ inarticulate neigh
Of fire-hov’d horse will ever disobey
Thy numerous ear, and mules will for their drink
Trouble my sacred springs, and I should think
That any of the human race had rather
See here the hurries of rich coaches gather,
And hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov’d horse,
Than in his pleasure’s place convert recourse
T’a mighty temple; and his wealth bestow
On pieties, where his sports may freely flow,
Or see huge wealth that he shall never owe.
And, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice,—
Though mightier far thou art, and much more wise,
O king, than I, thy pow’r being great’st of all
In Crissa, underneath the bosom’s fall
Of steep Parnassus,—let thy mind be given
To set thee up a fane, where never driven
Shall glorious coaches be, nor horses’ neighs
Storm near thy well-built altars, but thy praise
Let the fair race of pious humans bring
Into thy fane, that Io-pÆans sing.
And those gifts only let thy deified mind
Be circularly pleas’d with, being the kind
And fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.”
With this his mind she altered, though she spake
Not for his good, but her own glory’s sake.
From hence, O Phoebus, first thou mad’st retreat,
And of the Phlegians reached the walled seat,
Inhabited with contumelious men,
Who, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings then
Within a large cave, near Cephissus’ lake.
Hence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst make
Up to the tops intended, and the ground
Of Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown’d
Parnassus, reach’d, whose face affects the West;
Above which hangs a rock, that still seems prest
To fall upon it, through whose breast doth run
A rocky cave, near which the King the Sun
Cast to contrive a temple to his mind,
And said, “Now here stands my conceit inclin’d
To build a famous fane, where still shall be
An oracle to men, that still to me
Shall offer absolute hecatombs, as well
Those that in rich Peloponnesus dwell
As those of Europe, and the isles that lie
Wall’d with the sea, that all their pains apply
T’ employ my counsels. To all which will I
True secrets tell, by way of prophecy,
In my rich temple, that shall ever be
An oracle to all posterity.”
This said, the fane’s form he did straight present,
Ample, and of a length of great extent;
In which Trophonius and Agamede,
Who of Erginus were the famous seed,
Impos’d the stony entry, and the heart
Of every God had for their excellent art.
About the temple dwelt of human name
Unnumber’d nations, it acquired such fame,
Being all of stone, built for eternal date.
And near it did a fountain propagate
A fair stream far away; when Jove’s bright seed,
The King Apollo, with an arrow, freed
From his strong string, destroy’d the Dragoness
That wonder nourish’d, being of such excess
In size, and horridness of monstrous shape,
That on the forc’d earth she wrought many a rape,
Many a spoil made on it, many an ill
On crook-haunch’d herds brought, being impurpled still
With blood of all sorts; having undergone
The charge of Juno, with the golden throne,
To nourish Typhon, the abhorr’d affright
And bane of mortals, whom into the light
Saturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove,
Because the most renown’d fruit of his love
(Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain.
For which majestic Juno did complain
In this kind to the Bless’d Court of the skies:
“Know all ye sex-distinguish’d Deities,
That Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng,
Begins with me first, and affects with wrong
My right in him, made by himself his wife,
That knows and does the honour’d marriage life
All honest offices; and yet hath he
Unduly got, without my company,
Blue-eyed Minerva, who of all the sky
Of blest Immortals is the absolute grace;
Where I have brought into the Heavenly Race
A son, both taken in his feet and head,
So ugly, and so far from worth my bed,
That, ravish’d into hand, I took and threw
Down to the vast sea his detested view;
Where Nereus’ daughter, Thetis, who her way
With silver feet makes, and the fair array
Of her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard.
But, would to heaven, another yet were spared
The like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate,
What other scape canst thou excogitate?
How could thy heart sustain to get alone
The grey-eyed Goddess? Her conception
Nor bringing forth had any hand of mine,
And yet, know all the Gods, I go for thine
To such kind uses. But I’ll now employ
My brain to procreate a masculine joy,
That ’mongst th’ Immortals may as eminent shine,
With shame affecting nor my bed nor thine.
Nor will I ever touch at thine again,
But far fly it and thee; and yet will reign
Amongst th’ Immortals ever.” This spleen spent
(Still yet left angry) far away she went
From all the Deathless, and yet pray’d to all,
Advanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall,
Used these excitements: “Hear me now, O Earth!
Broad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth,
The deified Titanois, that dwell about
Vast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the rout
Of Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say,
With all your forces, and give instant way
T’ a son of mine without Jove, who yet may
Nothing inferior prove in force to him,
But past him spring as far in able limb
As he past Saturn.” This pronounced, she strook
Life-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shook
Beneath her numb’d hand. Which when she beheld,
Her bosom with abundant comforts swell’d,
In hope all should to her desire extend.
From hence the year, that all such proofs gives end,
Grew round; yet all that time the bed of Jove
She never touch’d at, never was her love
Enflam’d to sit near his DÆdalian throne,
As she accustomed, to consult upon
Counsels kept dark with many a secret skill,
But kept her vow-frequented temple still,
Pleas’d with her sacrifice; till now, the nights
And days accomplish’d, and the year’s whole rights
In all her revolutions being expired,
The hours and all run out that were required
To vent a birth-right, she brought forth a son,
Like Gods or men in no condition,
But a most dreadful and pernicious thing,
Call’d Typhon, who on all the human spring
Conferr’d confusion. Which received to hand
By Juno, instantly she gave command
(Ill to ill adding) that the Dragoness
Should bring it up; who took, and did oppress
With many a misery (to maintain th’ excess
Of that inhuman monster) all the race
Of men that were of all the world the grace,
Till the far-working Phoebus at her sent
A fiery arrow, that invoked event
Of death gave to her execrable life.
Before which yet she lay in bitter strife,
With dying pains, grovelling on earth, and drew
Extreme short respirations; for which flew
A shout about the air, whence no man knew,
But came by power divine. And then she lay
Tumbling her trunk, and winding every way
About her nasty nest, quite leaving then
Her murderous life, embrued with deaths of men.
Then Phoebus gloried, saying: “Thyself now lie
On men-sustaining earth, and putrefy,
Who first of putrefaction was inform’d.
Now on thy life have death’s cold vapours storm’d,
That storm’dst on men the earth-fed so much death,
In envy of the offspring they made breathe
Their lives out on my altars. Now from thee
Not Typhon shall enforce the misery
Of merited death, nor She, whose name implies
Such scathe (ChimÆra), but black earth make prise
To putrefaction thy immanities,
And bright Hyperion, that light all eyes shows,
Thine with a night of rottenness shall close.”
Thus spake he glorying. And then seiz’d upon
Her horrid heap, with putrefaction,
Hyperion’s lovely pow’rs; from whence her name
Took sound of Python, and heaven’s Sovereign Flame
Was surnam’d Pythius, since the sharp-eyed Sun
Affected so with putrefaction
The hellish monster. And now Phoebus’ mind
Gave him to know that falsehood had strook blind
Even his bright eye, because it could not find
The subtle Fountain’s fraud; to whom he flew,
Enflamed with anger, and in th’ instant drew
Close to Delphusa, using this short vow:
“Delphusa! You must look no longer now
To vent your frauds on me; for well I know
Your situation to be lovely, worth
A temple’s imposition, it pours forth
So delicate a stream. But your renown
Shall now no longer shine here, but mine own.”
This said, he thrust her promontory down,
And damm’d her fountain up with mighty stones,
A temple giving consecrations
In woods adjoining. And in this fane all
On him, by surname of Delphusius, call,
Because Delphusa’s sacred flood and fame
His wrath affected so, and hid in shame.
And then thought Phoebus what descent of men
To be his ministers he should retain,
To do in stony Pythos sacrifice.
To which his mind contending, his quick eyes
He cast upon the blue sea, and beheld
A ship, on whose masts sails that wing’d it swell’d,
In which were men transferr’d, many and good,
That in Minoian Cnossus ate their food,
And were Cretensians; who now are those
That all the sacrificing dues dispose,
And all the laws deliver to a word
Of Day’s great King, that wears the golden sword,
And oracles (out of his Delphian tree
That shrouds her fair arms in the cavity
Beneath Parnassus’ mount) pronounce to men.
These now his priests, that lived as merchants then,
In traffics and pecuniary rates,
For sandy Pylos and the Pylian states.
Were under sail. But now encounter’d them
Phoebus-Apollo, who into the stream
Cast himself headlong, and the strange disguise
Took of a dolphin of a goodly size.
Like which he leap’d into their ship, and lay
As an ostent of infinite dismay.
For none with any strife of mind could look
Into the omen, all the ship-masts shook,
And silent all sat with the fear they took,
Arm’d not, nor strook they sail, but as before
Went on with full trim, and a foreright blore,
Stiff, and from forth the south, the ship made fly.
When first they stripp’d the Malean promont’ry,
Touch’d at Laconia’s soil, in which a town
Their ship arriv’d at, that the sea doth crown,
Called Tenarus, a place of much delight
To men that serve Heaven’s Comforter of sight.
In which are fed the famous flocks that bear
The wealthy fleeces, on a delicate lair
Being fed and seated. Where the merchants fain
Would have put in, that they might out again
To tell the miracle that chanced to them,
And try if it would take the sacred stream,
Rushing far forth, that he again might bear
Those other fishes that abounded there
Delightsome company, or still would stay
Aboard their dry ship. But it fail’d t’ obey,
And for the rich Peloponnesian shore
Steer’d her free sail; Apollo made the blore
Directly guide it. That obeying still
Reach’d dry Arena, and (what wish doth fill)
Fair ArgyphÆa, and the populous height
Of Thryus, whose stream, siding her, doth wait
With safe pass on AlphÆus, Pylos’ sands,
And Pylian dwellers; keeping by the strands
On which th’ inhabitants of Crunius dwell,
And Helida set opposite to hell;
Chalcis and Dymes reach’d, and happily
Made sail by Pheras; all being overjoy’d
With that frank gale that Jove himself employ’d.
And then amongst the clouds they might descry
The hill, that far-seen Ithaca calls her Eye,
Dulichius, Samos, and, with timber graced,
Shady Zacynthus. But when now they past
Peloponnesus all, and then when show’d
The infinite vale of Crissa, that doth shroud
All rich Morea with her liberal breast,
So frank a gale there flew out of the West
As all the sky discover’d; ’twas so great,
And blew so from the very council seat
Of Jove himself, that quickly it might send
The ship through full seas to her journey’s end.
From thence they sail’d, quite opposite, to the East,
And to the region where Light leaves his rest,
The Light himself being sacred pilot there,
And made the sea-trod ship arrive them near
The grapeful Crissa, where he rest doth take
Close to her port and sands. And then forth brake
The far-shot King, like to a star that strows
His glorious forehead where the mid-day glows,
That all in sparkles did his state attire,
Whose lustre leap’d up to the sphere of fire.
He trod where no way oped, and pierced the place
That of his sacred tripods held the grace,
In which he lighted such a fluent flame
As gilt all Crissa; in which every dame,
And dame’s fair daughter, cast out vehement cries
At those fell fires of Phoebus’ prodigies,
That shaking fears through all their fancies threw.
Then, like the mind’s swift light, again he flew
Back to the ship, shaped like a youth in height
Of all his graces, shoulders broad and straight,
And all his hair in golden curls enwrapp’d;
And to the merchants thus his speech he shap’d:
“Ho! Strangers! What are you? And from what seat
Sail ye these ways that salt and water sweat?
To traffic justly? Or use vagrant scapes
Void of all rule, conferring wrongs and rapes,
Like pirates, on the men ye never saw,
With minds project exempt from list or law?
Why sit ye here so stupefied, nor take
Land while ye may, nor deposition make
Of naval arms, when this the fashion is
Of men industrious, who (their faculties
Wearied at sea) leave ship, and use the land
For food, that with their healths and stomachs stand?”
This said, with bold minds he their breast supplied,
And thus made answer the Cretensian guide:
“Stranger! Because you seem to us no seed
Of any mortal, but celestial breed
For parts and person, joy your steps ensue,
And Gods make good the bliss we think your due.
Vouchsafe us true relation, on what land
We here arrive, and what men here command.
We were for well-known parts bound, and from Crete
(Our vaunted country) to the Pylian seat
Vow’d our whole voyage; yet arrive we here,
Quite cross to those wills that our motions steer,
Wishing to make return some other way,
Some other course desirous to assay,
To pay our lost pains. But some God hath fill’d
Our frustrate sails, defeating what we will’d.”
Apollo answer’d: “Strangers! Though before
Ye dwelt in woody Cnossus, yet no more
Ye must be made your own reciprocals
To your loved city and fair severals
Of wives and houses, but ye shall have here
My wealthy temple, honour’d far and near
Of many a nation; for myself am son
To Jove himself, and of Apollo won
The glorious title, who thus safely through
The sea’s vast billows still have held your plough,
No ill intending, that will yet ye make
My temple here your own, and honours take
Upon yourselves, all that to me are given.
And more, the counsels of the King of Heaven
Yourselves shall know, and with his will receive
Ever the honours that all men shall give.
Do as I say then instantly, strike sail,
Take down your tackling, and your vessel hale
Up into land; your goods bring forth, and all
The instruments that into sailing fall;
Make on this shore an altar, fire enflame,
And barley white cakes offer to my name;
And then, environing the altar, pray,
And call me (as ye saw me in the day
When from the windy seas I brake swift way
Into your ship) Delphinius, since I took
A dolphin’s form then. And to every look
That there shall seek it, that my altar shall
Be made a Delphian memorial
From thence for ever. After this, ascend
Your swift black ship and sup, and then intend
Ingenuous offerings to the equal Gods
That in celestial seats make blest abodes.
When, having stay’d your healthful hunger’s sting,
Come all with me, and Io-pÆans sing
All the way’s length, till you attain the state
Where I your opulent fane have consecrate.”
To this they gave him passing diligent ear,
And vow’d to his obedience all they were.
First, striking sail, their tacklings then they losed,
And (with their gables stoop’d) their mast imposed
Into the mast-room. Forth themselves then went,
And from the sea into the continent
Drew up their ship; which far up from the sand
They rais’d with ample rafters. Then in hand
They took the altar; and inform’d it on
The sea’s near shore, imposing thereupon
White cakes of barley, fire made, and did stand
About it round, as Phoebus gave command,
Submitting invocations to his will.
Then sacrific’d to all the heavenly hill
Of pow’rful Godheads. After which they eat
Aboard their ship, till with fit food replete
They rose, nor to their temple used delay.
Whom Phoebus usher’d, and touch’d all the way
His heavenly lute with art above admired,
Gracefully leading them. When all were fired
With zeal to him, and follow’d wond’ring all
To Pythos; and upon his name did call
With Io-pÆans, such as Cretans use.
And in their bosoms did the deified Muse
Voices of honey-harmony infuse.
With never-weary feet their way they went,
And made with all alacrity ascent
Up to Parnassus, and that long’d-for place
Where they should live, and be of men the grace.
When, all the way, Apollo show’d them still
Their far-stretch’d valleys, and their two-topp’d hill,
Their famous fane, and all that all could raise
To a supreme height of their joy and praise.
And then the Cretan captain thus inquired
Of King Apollo: “Since you have retired,
O sovereign, our sad lives so far from friends
And native soil (because so far extends
Your dear mind’s pleasure) tell us how we shall
Live in your service? To which question call
Our provident minds, because we see not crown’d
This soil with store of vines, nor doth abound
In wealthy meadows, on which we may live,
As well as on men our attendance give.”
He smiled, and said: “O men that nothing know,
And so are follow’d with a world of woe,
That needs will succour care and curious moan,
And pour out sighs without cessation,
Were all the riches of the earth your own!
Without much business, I will render known
To your simplicities an easy way
To wealth enough, Let every man purvey
A skeane, or slaught’ring steel, and his right hand,
Bravely bestowing, evermore see mann’d
With killing sheep, that to my fane will flow
From all far nations. On all which bestow
Good observation, and all else they give
To me make you your own all, and so live.
For all which watch before my temple well,
And all my counsels, above all, conceal.
If any give vain language, or to deeds,
Yea or as far as injury, proceeds,
Know that, at losers’ hands, f

Hermes, the son of Jove and Maia, sing,
O Muse, th’ Arcadian and Cyllenian king,
They rich in flocks, he heaven enriching still
In messages return’d with all his will.
Whom glorious Maia, the nymph rich in hair,
Mixing with Jove in amorous affair,
Brought forth to him, sustaining a retreat
From all th’ Immortals of the blessed seat,
And living in the same dark cave, where Jove
Inform’d at midnight the effect of love,
Unknown to either man or Deity,
Sweet sleep once having seized the jealous eye
Of Juno deck’d with wrists of ivory.
But when great Jove’s high mind was consummate,
The tenth month had in heaven confined the date
Of Maia’s labour, and into the sight
She brought in one birth labours infinite;
For then she bore a son, that all tried ways
Could turn and wind to wish’d events assays,
A fair-tongu’d, but false-hearted, counsellor,
Rector of ox-stealers, and for all stealths bore
A varied finger; speeder of night’s spies,
And guide of all her dreams’ obscurities;
Guard of door-guardians; and was born to be,
Amongst th’ Immortals, that wing’d Deity
That in an instant should do acts would ask
The powers of others an eternal task.
Born in the morn, he form’d his lute at noon,
At night stole all the oxen of the Sun;
And all this in his birth’s first day was done,
Which was the fourth of the increasing moon.
Because celestial limbs sustain’d his strains,
His sacred swath-bands must not be his chains,
So, starting up, to Phoebus’ herd he stept,
Found straight the high-roof’d cave where they were kept,
And th’ entry passing, he th’ invention found
Of making lutes; and did in wealth abound
By that invention, since he first of all
Was author of that engine musical,
By this means moved to the ingenious work:
Near the cave’s inmost overture did lurk
A tortoise, tasting th’ odoriferous grass,
Leisurely moving; and this object was
The motive to Jove’s son (who could convert
To profitable uses all desert
That nature had in any work convey’d)
To form the lute; when, smiling, thus he said:
“Thou mov’st in me a note of excellent use,
Which thy ill form shall never so seduce
T’ avert the good to be inform’d by it,
In pliant force, of my form-forging wit.”
Then the slow tortoise, wrought on by his mind,
He thus saluted: “All joy to the kind
Instinct of nature in thee, born to be
The spiriter of dances, company
For feasts, and following banquets, graced and blest
For bearing light to all the interest
Claim’d in this instrument! From whence shall spring
Play fair and sweet, to which may Graces sing.
A pretty painted coat thou putt’st on here,
O Tortoise, while thy ill-bred vital sphere
Confines thy fashion; but, surprised by me,
I’ll bear thee home, where thou shalt ever be
A profit to me; and yet nothing more
Will I contemn thee in my merited store.
Goods with good parts got worth and honour gave,
Left goods and honours every fool may have,
And since thou first shall give me means to live,
I’ll love thee ever. Virtuous qualities give
To live at home with them enough content,
Where those that want such inward ornament
Fly out for outward, their life made their load.
Tis best to be at home, harm lurks abroad.
And certainly thy virtue shall be known,
’Gainst great-ill-causing incantation
To serve as for a lance or amulet.
And where, in comfort of thy vital heat,
Thou now breath’st but a sound confus’d for song,
Expos’d by nature, after death, more strong
Thou shalt in sounds of art be, and command
Song infinite sweeter.” Thus with either hand
He took it up, and instantly took flight
Back to his cave with that his home delight.
Where (giving to the mountain tortoise vents
Of life and motion) with fit instruments
Forged of bright steel he straight inform’d a lute,
Put neck and frets to it, of which a suit
He made of splitted quills, in equal space
Impos’d upon the neck, and did embrace
Both back and bosom. At whose height (as gins
T’ extend and ease the string) he put in pins.
Seven strings of several tunes he then applied,
Made of the entrails of a sheep well-dried,
And throughly twisted. Next he did provide
A case for all, made of an ox’s hide,
Out of his counsels to preserve as well
As to create. And all this action fell
Into an instant consequence. His word
And work had individual accord,
All being as swiftly to perfection brought
As any worldly man’s most ravish’d thought,
Whose mind care cuts in an infinity
Of varied parts or passions instantly,
Or as the frequent twinklings of an eye.
And thus his house-delight given absolute end,
He touch’d it, and did every string extend
(With an exploratory spirit assay’d)
To all the parts that could on it be play’d.
It sounded dreadfully; to which he sung,
As if from thence the first and true force sprung
That fashions virtue. God in him did sing.
His play was likewise an unspeakable thing,
Yet, but as an extemporal assay,
Of what show it would make being the first way,
It tried his hand; or a tumultuous noise,
Such as at feasts the first-flower’d spirits of boys
Pour out in mutual contumelies still,
As little squaring with his curious will,
Or was as wanton and untaught a store.
Of Jove, and Maia that rich shoes still wore,
He sung; who suffer’d ill reports before,
And foul stains under her fair titles bore.
But Hermes sung her nation, and her name
Did iterate ever; all her high-flown fame
Of being Jove’s mistress; celebrating all
Her train of servants, and collateral
Sumpture of houses; all her tripods there,
And caldrons huge, increasing every year.
All which she knew, yet felt her knowledge stung
With her fame’s loss, which (found) she more wish’d sung.
But now he in his sacred cradle laid
His lute so absolute, and straight convey’d
Himself up to a watch-tow’r forth his house,
Rich, and divinely odoriferous,
A lofty wile at work in his conceit,
Thirsting the practice of his empire’s height.
And where impostors rule (since sable night
Must serve their deeds) he did his deeds their right.
For now the never-resting Sun was turn’d
For th’ under earth, and in the ocean burn’d
His coach and coursers; when th’ ingenious spy
Pieria’s shady hill had in his eye,
Where the immortal oxen of the Gods
In air’s flood solaced their select abodes,
And earth’s sweet green flow’r, that was never shorn,
Fed ever down. And these the witty-born,
Argicides, set serious spy upon,
Severing from all the rest, and setting gone
Full fifty of the violent bellowers.
Which driving through the sands, he did reverse
(His birth’s-craft straight rememb’ring) all their hoves,
And them transpos’d in opposite removes,
The fore behind set, the behind before,
T’ employ the eyes of such as should explore.
And he himself, as sly-pac’d, cast away
His sandals on the sea sands; past display
And unexcogitable thoughts in act
Putting, to shun of his stol’n steps the tract,
Mixing both tamrisk and like-tamrisk sprays
In a most rare confusion, to raise
His footsteps up from earth. Of which sprays he
(His armful gathering fresh from off the tree)
Made for his sandals ties, both leaves and ties
Holding together; and then fear’d no eyes
That could affect his feet’s discoveries.
The tamrisk boughs he gather’d, making way
Back from Pieria, but as to convey
Provision in them for his journey fit,
It being long and, therefore, needing it.
An old man, now at labour near the field
Of green Onchestus, knew the verdant yield
Of his fair armful; whom th’ ingenious son
Of Maia, therefore, salutation
Did thus begin to: “Ho, old man! that now
Art crooked grown with making plants to grow,
Thy nerves will far be spent, when these boughs shall
To these their leaves confer me fruit and all.
But see not thou whatever thou dost see,
Nor hear though hear, but all as touching me
Conceal, since nought it can endamage thee.”
This, and no more, he said, and on drave still
His broad-brow’d oxen. Many a shady hill,
And many an echoing valley, many a field
Pleasant and wishful, did his passage yield
Their safe transcension. But now the divine
And black-brow’d Night, his mistress, did decline
Exceeding swiftly; Day’s most early light
Fast hasting to her first point, to excite
Worldlings to work; and in her watch-tow’r shone
King Pallas-Megamedes’ seed (the Moon);
When through th’ AlphÆan flood Jove’s powerful son
Phoebus-Apollo’s ample-foreheaded herd
(Whose necks the lab’ring yoke had never sphered)
Drave swiftly on; and then into a stall
(Hilly, yet pass’d to through an humble vale
And hollow dells, in a most lovely mead)
He gather’d all, and them divinely fed
With odorous cypress, and the ravishing tree
That makes his eaters lose the memory
Of name and country. Then he brought withal
Much wood, whose sight into his search let fall
The art of making fire; which thus he tried:
He took a branch of laurel, amplified
Past others both in beauty and in size,
Yet lay next hand, rubb’d it, and straight did rise
A warm fume from it; steel being that did raise
(As agent) the attenuated bays
To that hot vapour. So that Hermes found
Both fire first, and of it the seed close bound
In other substances; and then the seed
He multiplied, of sere-wood making feed
The apt heat of it, in a pile combined
Laid in a low pit, that in flames straight shined,
And cast a sparkling crack up to the sky,
All the dry parts so fervent were, and high
In their combustion. And how long the force
Of glorious Vulcan kept the fire in course,
So long was he in dragging from their stall
Two of the crook-haunch’d herd, that roar’d withal,
And raged for fear, t’ approach the sacred fire,
To which did all his dreadful pow’rs aspire.
When, blust’ring forth their breath, he on the soil
Cast both at length, though with a world of toil,
For long he was in getting them to ground
After their through-thrust and most mortal wound.
But work to work he join’d, the flesh and cut,
Cover’d with fat, and, on treen broches put,
In pieces roasted; but in th’ intestines
The black blood, and the honorary chines,
Together with the carcases, lay there,
Cast on the cold earth, as no Deities’ cheer;
The hides upon a rugged rock he spread.
And thus were these now all in pieces shred,
And undistinguish’d from earth’s common herd,
Though born for long date, and to heaven endear’d,
And now must ever live in dead event.
But Hermes, here hence having his content,
Cared for no more, but drew to places even
The fat-works, that, of force, must have for heaven
Their capital ends, though stol’n, and therefore were
In twelve parts cut, for twelve choice Deities’ cheer,
By this devotion. To all which he gave
Their several honours, and did wish to have
His equal part thereof, as free and well
As th’ other Deities; but the fatty smell
Afflicted him, though he Immortal were,
Playing mortal parts, and being like mortals here
Yet his proud mind nothing the more obey’d
For being a God himself, and his own aid
Having to cause his due, and though in heart
He highly wish’d it; but the weaker part
Subdued the stronger, and went on in ill.
Even heavenly pow’r had rather have his will
Than have his right; and will’s the worst of all,
When but in least sort it is criminal,
One taint being author of a number still.
And thus, resolved to leave his hallow’d hill,
First both the fat parts and the fleshy all
Taking away, at the steep-entried stall
He laid all, all the feet and heads entire,
And all the sere-wood, making clear with fire.
And now, he leaving there then all things done,
And finish’d in their fit perfection,
The coals put out, and their black ashes thrown
From all discovery by the lovely light
The cheerful moon cast, shining all the night,
He straight assumed a novel voice’s note,
And in the whirl-pit-eating flood afloat
He set his sandals. When now, once again
The that-morn-born Cyllenius did attain
His home’s divine height; all the far-stretch’d way
No one bless’d God encount’ring his assay,
Nor mortal man; nor any dog durst spend
His born-to-bark mouth at him; till in th’ end
He reach’d his cave, and at the gate went in
Crooked, and wrapt into a fold so thin
That no eye could discover his repair,
But as a darkness of th’ autumnal air.
When, going on fore-right, he straight arrived
At his rich fane; his soft feet quite deprived
Of all least noise of one that trod the earth,
They trod so swift to reach his room of birth.
Where, in his swath-bands he his shoulders wrapt,
And (like an infant, newly having scap’t
The teeming straits) as in the palms he lay
Of his loved nurse. Yet instantly would play
(Freeing his right hand) with his bearing cloth
About his knees wrapt, and straight (loosing both
His right and left hand) with his left he caught
His much-loved lute. His mother yet was taught
His wanton wiles, nor could a God’s wit lie
Hid from a Goddess, who did therefore try
His answer thus: “Why, thou made-all-of-sleight,
And whence arriv’st thou in this rest of night?
Improvident impudent! In my conceit
Thou rather shouldst be getting forth thy gate,
With all flight fit for thy endanger’d state,
(In merit of th’ inevitable bands
To be impos’d by vex’d Latona’s hands,
Justly incens’d for her Apollo’s harms)
Than lie thus wrapt, as ready for her arms,
To take thee up and kiss thee. Would to heaven,
In cross of that high grace, thou hadst been given
Up to perdition, ere poor mortals bear
Those black banes, that thy Father Thunderer
Hath planted thee of purpose to confer
On them and Deities!” He returned reply:
“As master of the feats of policy,
Mother, why aim you thus amiss at me,
As if I were a son that infancy
Could keep from all the skill that age can teach,
Or had in cheating but a childish reach,
And of a mother’s mandates fear’d the breach?
I mount that art at first, that will be best
When all times consummate their cunningest,
Able to counsel now myself and thee,
In all things best, to all eternity.
We cannot live like Gods here without gifts,
No, nor without corruption and shifts,
And, much less, without eating; as we must
In keeping thy rules, and in being just,
Of which we cannot undergo the loads.
’Tis better here to imitate the Gods,
And wine or wench out all time’s periods,
To that end growing rich in ready heaps,
Stored with revenues, being in corn-field reaps
Of infinite acres, than to live enclosed
In caves, to all earth’s sweetest air exposed.
I as much honour hold as Phoebus does;
And if my Father please not to dispose
Possessions to me, I myself will see
If I can force them in; for I can be
Prince of all thieves. And, if Latona’s son
Make after my stealth indignation,
I’ll have a scape as well as he a search,
And overtake him with a greater lurch;
For I can post to Pythos, and break through
His huge house there, where harbours wealth enough,
Most precious tripods, caldrons, steel, and gold,
Garments rich wrought, and full of liberal fold.
All which will I at pleasure own, and thou
Shalt see all, wilt thou but thy sight bestow.”
Thus changed great words the Goat-hide-wearer’s son,
And Maia of majestic fashion.
And now the air-begot Aurora rose
From out the Ocean great-in-ebbs-and-flows,
When, at the never-shorn pure-and-fair grove
(Onchestus) consecrated to the love
Of round-and-long-neck’d Neptune, Phoebus found
A man whom heavy years had press’d half round,
And yet at work in plashing of a fence
About a vineyard, that had residence
Hard by the highway; whom Latona’s son
Made it not strange, but first did question,
And first saluted: “Ho you! aged sire,
That here are hewing from the vine the briar,
For certain oxen I come here t’ inquire
Out of Pieria; females all, and rear’d
All with horns wreath’d, unlike the common herd;
A coal-black bull fed by them all alone;
And all observ’d, for preservation,
Through all their foody and delicious fen
With four fierce mastiffs, like one-minded men.
These left their dogs and bull (which I admire)
And, when was near set day’s eternal fire,
From their fierce guardians, from their delicate fare,
Made clear departure. To me then declare,
O old man, long since born, if thy grave ray
Hath any man seen making steathful way
With all those oxen.” Th’ old man made reply:
“’Tis hard, O friend, to render readily
Account of all that may invade mine eye,
For many a traveller this highway treads,
Some in much ills search, some in noble threads,
Leading their lives out; but I this young day,
Even from her first point, have made good display
Of all men passing this abundant hill
Planted with vines, and no such stealthful ill
Her light hath shown me; but last evening, late,
I saw a thing that show’d of childish state
To my old lights, and seem’d as he pursued
A herd of oxen with brave heads endued,
Yet but an infant, and retain’d a rod;
Who wearily both this and that way trod,
His head still backwards turn’d.” This th’ old man spake;
Which he well thought upon, and swiftly brake
Into his pursuit with abundant wing,
That strook but one plain, ere he knew the thing
That was the thief to be th’ impostor born;
Whom Jove yet with his son’s name did adorn.
In study and with ardour then the King
(Jove’s dazzling son) placed his exploring wing
On sacred Pylos, for his forced herd,
His ample shoulders in a cloud enspher’d
Of fiery crimson. Straight the steps he found
Of his stol’n herd, and said: “Strange sights confound
My apprehensive powers, for here I see
The tracks of oxen, but aversively
Converted towards the Pierian hills,
As treading to their mead of daffodils:
But nor mine eye men’s feet nor women’s draws,
Nor hoary wolves’, nor bears’, nor lions’, paws,
Nor thick-neck’d bulls, they show. But he that does
These monstrous deeds, with never so swift shoes
Hath pass’d from that hour hither, but from hence
His foul course may meet fouler consequence.”
With this took Phoebus wing; and Hermes still,
For all his threats, secure lay in his hill
Wall’d with a wood; and more, a rock, beside,
Where a retreat ran, deeply multiplied
In blinding shadows, and where th’ endless Bride
Bore to Saturnius his ingenious son;
An odour, worth a heart’s desire, being thrown
Along the heaven-sweet hill, on whose herb fed
Rich flocks of sheep, that bow not where they tread
Their horny pasterns. There the Light of men
(Jove’s son, Apollo) straight descended then
The marble pavement, in that gloomy den.
On whom when Jove and Maia’s son set eye,
Wroth for his oxen, on then, instantly,
His odorous swath-bands flew; in which as close
Th’ impostor lay, as in the cool repose
Of cast-on ashes hearths of burning coals
Lie in the woods hid, under the controls
Of skilful colliers; even so close did lie
Inscrutable Hermes in Apollo’s eye,
Contracting his great Godhead to a small
And infant likeness, feet, hands, head, and all.
And as a hunter hath been often view’d,
From chase retired, with both his hands embrued
In his game’s blood, that doth for water call
To cleanse his hands, and to provoke withal
Delightsome sleep, new-wash’d and laid to rest;
So now lay Hermes in the close-compress’d
Chace of his oxen, his new-found-out lute
Beneath his arm held, as if no pursuit
But that prise, and the virtue of his play,
His heart affected. But to Phoebus lay
His close heart open; and he likewise knew
The brave hill-nymph there, and her dear son, new-
Born, and as well wrapt in his wiles as weeds.
All the close shrouds too, for his rapinous deeds,
In all the cave he knew; and with his key
He open’d three of them, in which there lay
Silver and gold-heaps, nectar infinite store,
And dear ambrosia; and of weeds she wore,
Pure white and purple, a rich wardrobe shined.
Fit for the bless’d states of Pow’rs so divined.
All which discover’d, thus to Mercury
He offer’d conference: “Infant! You that lie
Wrapt so in swath-bands, instantly unfold
In what conceal’d retreats of yours you hold
My oxen stol’n by you; or straight we shall
Jar, as beseems not Pow’rs Celestial.
For I will take and hurl thee to the deeps
Of dismal Tartarus, where ill Death keeps
His gloomy and inextricable fates,
And to no eye that light illuminates
Mother nor Father shall return thee free,
But under earth shall sorrow fetter thee,
And few repute thee their superior.”
On him replied craft’s subtlest Counsellor:
“What cruel speech hath past Latona’s care!
Seeks he his stol‘n wild-cows where Deities are?
I have nor seen nor heard, nor can report
From others’ mouths one word of their resort
To any stranger. Nor will I, to gain
A base reward, a false relation feign.
Nor would I, could I tell. Resemble I
An ox-thief, or a man? Especially
A man of such a courage, such a force
As to that labour goes, that violent course?
No infant’s work is that. My pow’rs aspire
To sleep, and quenching of my hunger’s fire
With mother’s milk, and, ’gainst cold shades, to arm
With cradle-cloths my shoulders, and baths warm,
That no man may conceive the war you threat
Can spring in cause from my so peaceful heat.
And, even amongst th’ Immortals it would bear
Event of absolute miracle, to hear
A new-born infant’s forces should transcend
The limits of his doors; much less contend
With untam’d oxen. This speech nothing seems
To savour the decorum of the beams
Cast round about the air Apollo breaks,
Where his divine mind her intention speaks.
I brake but yesterday the blessed womb,
My feet are tender, and the common tomb
Of men (the Earth) lies sharp beneath their tread.
But, if you please, even by my Father’s head
I’ll take the great oath, that nor I protest
Myself to author on your interest
Any such usurpation, nor have I
Seen any other that feloniously
Hath forced your oxen. Strange thing! What are those
Oxen of yours? Or what are oxen? Knows
My rude mind, think you? My ears only touch
At their renown, and hear that there are such.”
This speech he pass’d; and, ever as he spake,
Beams from the hair about his eyelids brake,
His eyebrows up and down cast, and his eye
Every way look’d askance and carelessly,
And he into a lofty whistling fell,
As if he idle thought Apollo’s spell.
Apollo, gently smiling, made reply:
“O thou impostor, whose thoughts ever lie
In labour with deceit! For certain, I
Retain opinion, that thou (even thus soon)
Hast ransack’d many a house, and not in one
Night’s-work alone, nor in one country neither,
Hast been besieging house and man together,
Rigging and rifling all ways, and no noise
Made with thy soft feet, where it all destroys.
Soft, therefore, well, and tender, thou may’st call
The feet that thy stealths go and fly withal,
For many a field-bred herdsman (unheard still)
Hast thou made drown the caverns of the hill,
Where his retreats lie, with his helpless tears,
When any flesh-stealth thy desire endears,
And thou encount’rest either flocks of sheep,
Or herds of oxen! Up then! Do not sleep
Thy last nap in thy cradle, but come down,
Companion of black night, and, for this crown
Of thy young rapines, bear from all the state
And style of Prince Thief, into endless date.”
This said, he took the infant in his arms,
And with him the remembrance of his harms,
This presage utt’ring, lifting him aloft:
“Be evermore the miserably-soft
Slave of the belly, pursuivant of all,
And author of all mischiefs capital.”
He scorn’d his prophecy so he sneezed in’s face
Most forcibly; which hearing, his embrace
He loathed and hurl’d him ’gainst the ground; yet still
Took seat before him, though, with all the ill
He bore by him, he would have left full fain
That hewer of his heart so into twain.
Yet salv’d all thus: “Come, you so-swaddled thing!
Issue of Maia, and the Thunder’s King!
Be confident, I shall hereafter find
My broad-brow’d oxen, my prophetic mind
So far from blaming this thy course, that I
Foresee thee in it to posterity
The guide of all men, always, to their ends.”
This spoken, Hermes from the earth ascends,
Starting aloft, and as in study went,
Wrapping himself in his integument,
And thus ask’d Phoebus: “Whither force you me,
Far-shot, and far most powerful Deity?
I know, for all your feigning, you’re still wroth
About your oxen, and suspect my troth.
O Jupiter! I wish the general race
Of all earth’s oxen rooted from her face.
I steal your oxen! I again profess
That neither I have stol’n them, nor can guess
Who else should steal them. What strange beasts are these
Your so-loved oxen? I must say, to please
Your humour thus far, that even my few hours
Have heard their fame. But be the sentence yours
Of the debate betwixt us, or to Jove
(For more indifferency) the cause remove.”
Thus when the solitude-affecting God,
And the Latonian seed, had laid abroad
All things betwixt them; though not yet agreed,
Yet, might I speak, Apollo did proceed
Nothing unjustly, to charge Mercury
With stealing of the cows he does deny.
But his profession was, with filed speech,
And craft’s fair compliments, to overreach
All, and even Phoebus. Who because he knew
His trade of subtlety, he still at view
Hunted his foe through all the sandy way
Up to Olympus. Nor would let him stray
From out his sight, but kept behind him still.
And now they reach’d the odorif’rous hill
Of high Olympus, to their Father Jove,
To arbitrate the cause in which they strove.
Where, before both, talents of justice were
Propos’d for him whom Jove should sentence clear,
In cause of their contention. And now
About Olympus, ever crown’d with snow,
The rumour of their controversy flew.
All the Incorruptible, to their view,
On Heaven’s steep mountain made return’d repair.
Hermes, and He that light hurls through the air,
Before the Thund’rer’s knees stood; who begun
To question thus far his illustrious Son:
“Phoebus! To what end bring’st thou captive here
Him in whom my mind puts delights so dear?
This new-born infant, that the place supplies
Of Herald yet to all the Deities?
This serious business, you may witness, draws
The Deities’ whole Court to discuss the cause.”
Phoebus replied: “And not unworthy is
The cause of all the Court of Deities,
For, you shall hear, it comprehends the weight
Of devastation, and the very height
Of spoil and rapine, even of Deities’ rights.
Yet you, as if myself loved such delights,
Use words that wound my heart. I bring you here
An infant, that, even now, admits no peer
In rapes and robb’ries. Finding out his place,
After my measure of an infinite space,
In the Cyllenian mountain, such a one
In all the art of opprobration,
As not in all the Deities I have seen,
Nor in th’ oblivion-mark’d whole race of men.
In night he drave my oxen from their leas,
Along the lofty roar-resounding seas,
From out the road-way quite; the steps of them
So quite transpos’d, as would amaze the beam
Of any mind’s eye, being so infinite much
Involv’d in doubt, as show’d a deified touch
Went to the work’s performance; all the way,
Through which my cross-hoved cows he did convey,
Had dust so darkly-hard to search, and he
So past all measure wrapt in subtilty.
For, nor with feet, nor hands, he form’d his steps,
In passing through the dry way’s sandy heaps,
But used another counsel to keep hid
His monstrous tracts, that show’d as one had slid
On oak or other boughs, that swept out still
The footsteps of his oxen, and did fill
Their prints up ever, to the daffodill
(Or dainty-feeding meadow) as they trod,
Driven by this cautelous and infant God.
A mortal man, yet, saw him driving on
His prey to Pylos. Which when he had done,
And got his pass sign’d, with a sacred fire,
In peace, and freely (though to his desire,
Not to the Gods, he offer’d part of these
My ravish’d oxen) he retires, and lies,
Like to the gloomy night, in his dim den,
All hid in darkness; and in clouts again
Wrapp’d him so closely, that the sharp-seen eye
Of your own eagle could not see him lie.
For with his hands the air he rarified
(This way, and that moved) till bright gleams did glide
About his being, that, if any eye
Should dare the darkness, light appos’d so nigh
Might blind it quite with her antipathy.
Which wile he wove, in curious care t’ illude
Th’ extreme of any eye that could intrude.
On which relying, he outrageously
(When I accus’d him) trebled his reply:
‘I did not see, I did not hear, nor I
Will tell at all, that any other stole
Your broad-brow’d beeves. Which an impostor’s soul
Would soon have done, and any author fain
Of purpose only a reward to gain.’
And thus he colour’d truth in every lie.”
This said, Apollo sat; and Mercury
The Gods’ Commander pleased with this reply:
“Father! I’ll tell thee truth (for I am true,
And far from art to lie): He did pursue
Even to my cave his oxen this self day,
The sun new-raising his illustrious ray;
But brought with him none of the Bliss-endued,
Nor any ocular witness, to conclude
His bare assertion; but his own command
Laid on with strong and necessary hand,
To show his oxen; using threats to cast
My poor and infant powers into the vast
Of ghastly Tartarus; because he bears
Of strength-sustaining youth the flaming years,
And I but yesterday produced to light.
By which it fell into his own free sight,
That I in no similitude appear’d
Of power to be the forcer of a herd.
And credit me, O Father, since the grace
Of that name, in your style, you please to place,
I drave not home his oxen, no, nor prest
Past mine own threshold; for ’tis manifest,
I reverence with my soul the Sun, and all
The knowing dwellers in this heavenly Hall,
Love you, observe the least; and ’tis most clear
In your own knowledge, that my merits bear
No least guilt of his blame. To all which I
Dare add heaven’s great oath, boldly swearing by
All these so well-built entries of the Blest.
And therefore when I saw myself so prest
With his reproaches, I confess I burn’d
In my pure gall, and harsh reply return’d.
Add your aid to your younger then, and free
The scruple fixt in Phoebus’ jealousy.”
This said he wink’d upon his Sire; and still
His swathbands held beneath his arm; no will
Discern’d in him to hide, but have them shown.
Jove laugh’d aloud at his ingenious Son,
Quitting himself with art, so likely wrought,
As show’d in his heart not a rapinous thought;
Commanding both to bear atoned minds
And seek out th’ oxen; in which search he binds
Hermes to play the guide, and show the Sun
(All grudge exil’d) the shrowd to which he won
His fair-eyed oxen; then his forehead bow’d
For sign it must be so; and Hermes show’d
His free obedience; so soon he inclined
To his persuasion and command his mind.
Now, then, Jove’s jarring Sons no longer stood,
But sandy Pylos and th’ AlphÆan flood
Reach’d instantly, and made as quick a fall
On those rich-feeding fields and lofty stall
Where Phoebus’ oxen Hermes safely kept,
Driven in by night. When suddenly he stept
Up to the stony cave, and into light
Drave forth the oxen. Phoebus at first sight
Knew them the same, and saw apart dispread
Upon a high-rais’d rock the hides new flead
Of th’ oxen sacrific’d. Then Phoebus said:
“O thou in crafty counsels undisplaid!
How couldst thou cut the throats, and cast to earth,
Two such huge oxen, being so young a birth,
And a mere infant? I admire thy force,
And will, behind thy back. But this swift course
Of growing into strength thou hadst not need
Continue any long date, O thou Seed
Of honour’d Maia!” Hermes (to show how
He did those deeds) did forthwith cut and bow
Strong osiers in soft folds, and strappled straight
One of his hugest oxen, all his weight
Lay’ng prostrate on the earth at Phoebus’ feet,
All his four cloven hoves eas’ly made to greet
Each other upwards, all together brought.
In all which bands yet all the beast’s powers wrought,
To rise, and stand; when all the herd about
The mighty Hermes rush’d in, to help out
Their fellow from his fetters. Phoebus’ view
Of all this up to admiration drew
Even his high forces; and stern looks he threw
At Hermes for his herd’s wrong, and the place
To which he had retir’d them, being in grace
And fruitful riches of it so entire;
All which set all his force on envious fire.
All whose heat flew out of his eyes in flames,
Which fain he would have hid, to hide the shames,
Of his ill-govern’d passions. But with ease
Hermes could calm them, and his humours please.
Still at his pleasure, were he ne’er so great
In force and fortitude, and high in heat,
In all which he his lute took, and assay’d
A song upon him, and so strangely play’d,
That from his hand a ravishing horror flew.
Which Phoebus into laughter turn’d, and grew
Pleasant past measure; tunes so artful clear
Strook even his heart-strings, and his mind made hear.
His lute so powerful was in forcing love,
As his hand rul’d it, that from him it drove
All fear of Phoebus; yet he gave him still
The upper hand; and, to advance his skill
To utmost miracle, he play’d sometimes
Single awhile; in which, when all the climes
Of rapture he had reach’d, to make the Sun
Admire enough, O then his voice would run
Such points upon his play, and did so move,
They took Apollo prisoner to his love.
And now the deathless Gods and deathful Earth
He sung, beginning at their either’s birth
To full extent of all their empery.
And, first, the honour to Mnemosyne,
The Muses’ mother, of all Goddess states
He gave; even forced to’t by the equal fates.
And then (as it did in priority fall
Of age and birth) he celebrated all.
And with such elegance and order sung
(His lute still touch’d, to stick more off his tongue)
That Phoebus’ heart with infinite love he eat.
Who, therefore, thus did his deserts entreat:
“Master of sacrifice! Chief soul of feast!
Patient of all pains! Artizan so blest,
That all things thou canst do in anyone!
Worth fifty oxen is th’ invention
Of this one lute. We both shall now, I hope,
In firm peace work to all our wishes’ scope.
Inform me (thou that every way canst wind,
And turn to act, all wishes of thy mind)
Together with thy birth came all thy skill?
Or did some God, or God-like man, instill
This heavenly song to thee? Methink I hear
A new voice, such as never yet came near
The breast of any, either man or God,
Till in thee it had prime and period.
What art, what Muse that med’cine can produce
For cares most cureless, what inveterate use
Or practice of a virtue so profuse
(Which three do all the contribution keep
That Joy or Love confers, or pleasing Sleep.)
Taught thee the sovereign facture of them all?
I of the Muses am the capital
Consort, or follower; and to these belong
The grace of dance, all worthy ways of song,
And ever-flourishing verse, the delicate set
And sound of instruments. But never yet
Did anything so much affect my mind
With joy and care to compass, as this kind
Of song and play, that for the spritely feast
Of flourishing assemblies are the best
And aptest works that ever worth gave act.
My powers with admiration stand distract,
To hear with what a hand to make in love
Thou rul’st thy lute. And (though thy yong’st hours move
At full art in old councils) here I vow
(Even by this cornel dart I use to throw)
To thee, and to thy mother, I’ll make thee
Amongst the Gods of glorious degree,
Guide of men’s ways and theirs; and will impart
To thee the mighty imperatory art,
Bestow rich gifts on thee, and in the end
Never deceive thee.” Hermes (as a friend
That wrought on all advantage, and made gain
His capital object) thus did entertain
Phoebus Apollo: “Do thy dignities,
Far-working God and circularly wise,
Demand my virtues? Without envy I
Will teach thee to ascend my faculty.
And this day thou shalt reach it; finding me,
In acts and counsels, all ways kind to thee,
As one that all things knows, and first tak’st seat
Amongst th’ Immortals, being good and great,
And therefore to Jove’s love mak’st free access,
Even out of his accomplisht holiness.
Great gifts he likewise gives thee; who, fame says,
Hast won thy greatness by his will, his ways,
By him know’st all the powers prophetical,
O thou far-worker, and the fates of all!
Yea, and I know thee rich, yet

The force, O Muse, and functions now unfold
Of Cyprian Venus, grac’d with mines of gold;
Who even in Deities lights love’s sweet desire,
And all Death’s kinds of men makes kiss her fire,
All air’s wing’d nation, all the belluine,
That or the earth feeds, or the seas confine.
To all which appertain the love and care
Of well-crown’d Venus’ works. Yet three there are
Whose minds She neither can deceive nor move;
Pallas, the Seed of Ægis-bearing Jove,
Who still lives indevirginate, her eyes
Being blue, and sparkling like the freezing skies,
Whom all the gold of Venus never can
Tempt to affect her facts with God or man.
She, loving strife, and Mars’s working banes,
Pitch’d fields and fights, and famous artizans,
Taught earthy men first all the arts that are,
Chariots, and all the frames vehicular,
Chiefly with brass arm’d, and adorn’d for war.
Where Venus only soft-skinn’d wenches fills
With wanton house-works, and suggests those skills
Still to their studies. Whom Diana neither,
That bears the golden distaff, and together
Calls horns, and hollows, and the cries of hounds,
And owns the epithet of loving sounds
For their sakes, springing from such spritely sports,
Can catch with her kind lures; but hill resorts
To wild-beasts, slaughters, accents far-off heard
Of harps and dances, and of woods unshear’d
The sacred shades she loves, yet likes as well
Cities where good men and their offspring dwell.
The third, whom her kind passions nothing please,
Is virgin Vesta; whom Saturnides
Made reverend with his counsels, when his Sire,
That adverse counsels agitates, life’s fire
Had kindled in her, being his last-begot.
Whom Neptune woo’d to knit with him the knot
Of honour’d nuptials, and Apollo too;
Which with much vehemence she refused to do,
And stern repulses put upon them both,
Adding to all her vows the Gods’ great oath,
And touching Jove’s chin, which must consummate
All vows so bound, that she would hold her state,
And be th’ invincible Maid of Deities
Through all her days’ dates. For Saturnides
Gave her a fair gift in her nuptials’ stead,
To sit in midst of his house, and be fed
With all the free and richest feast of heaven,
In all the temples of the Gods being given
The prize of honour. Not a mortal man,
(That either, of the Pow’rs Olympian
His half-birth having, may be said to be
A mortal of the Gods, or else that he,
Deities’ wills doing, is of Deity)
But gives her honour of the amplest kind.
Of all these three can Venus not a mind
Deceive, or set on forces to reflect.
Of all Pow’rs else yet, not a sex, nor sect,
Flies Venus; either of the blessed Gods,
Or men confin’d in mortal periods.
But even the mind of Jove she doth seduce,
That chides with thunder so her lawless use
In human creatures, and by lot is given
Of all most honour, both in earth and heaven.
And yet even his all-wise and mighty mind
She, when she lists, can forge affects to blind,
And mix with mortal dames his Deity,
Conceal’d at all parts from the jealous eye
Of Juno, who was both his sister born,
And made his wife; whom beauty did adorn
Past all the bevy of Immortal Dames,
And whose so chiefly-glorified flames
Cross-counsell’d Saturn got, and RhÆa bore,
And Jove’s pure counsels (being conqueror)
His wife made of his sister. Ay, and more,
Cast such an amorous fire into her mind
As made her (like him) with the mortal kind
Meet in unmeet bed; using utmost haste,
Lest she should know that he lived so unchaste,
Before herself felt that fault in her heart,
And gave her tongue too just edge of desert
To tax his lightness. With this end, beside,
Lest laughter-studying Venus should deride
The Gods more than the Goddesses, and say
That she the Gods commix’d in amorous play
With mortal dames, begetting mortal seed
T’ immortal sires, and not make Goddesses breed
The like with mortal fathers. But, t’ acquite
Both Gods and Goddesses of her despite,
Jove took (even in herself) on him her pow’r,
And made her with a mortal paramour
Use as deform’d a mixture as the rest;
Kindling a kind affection in her breast
To God-like-limb’d Anchises, as he kept,
On Ida’s top-on-top-to-heaven’s-pole-heapt,[1]
Amongst the many fountains there, his herd.
For, after his brave person had appear’d
To her bright eye, her heart flew all on fire,
And to amaze she burn’d in his desire,
Flew straight to Cyprus, to her odorous fane
And altars, that the people Paphian
Advanced to her. Where, soon as enter’d, she
The shining gates shut; and the Graces three
Wash’d, and with oils of everlasting scent
Bathed, as became, her deathless lineament.
Then her ambrosian mantle she assum’d,
With rich and odoriferous airs perfum’d.
Which being put on, and all her trims beside
Fair, and with all allurements amplified,
The all-of-gold-made laughter-loving Dame
Left odorous Cyprus, and for Troy became
A swift contendress, her pass cutting all
Along the clouds, and made her instant fall
On fountful Ida, that her mother-breasts
Gives to the preyful brood of savage beasts.
And through the hill she went the ready way
T’ Anchises’ oxstall, where did fawn and play
About her blessed feet wolves grisly-gray,
Terrible lions, many a mankind bear,
And lybberds swift, insatiate of red deer.
Whose sight so pleas’d, that, ever as she past,
Through every beast a kindly love she cast,
That, in their dens obscured with shadows deep,
Made all, distinguish’d in kind couples, sleep.
And now she reach’d the rich pavilion
Of the heroË, in whom heavens had shown
A fair and goodly composition,
And whom she in his oxstall found, alone,
His oxen feeding in fat pastures by,
He walking up and down, sounds clear and high
From his harp striking. Then before him she
Stood like a virgin, that invincibly
Had borne her beauties; yet alluringly
Bearing her person, lest his ravish’d eye
Should chance t’ affect him with a stupid fear.
Anchises seeing her, all his senses were
With wonder stricken, and high-taken heeds
Both of her form, brave stature, and rich weeds.
For, for a veil, she shin’d in an attire
That cast a radiance past the ray of fire.
Beneath which wore she, girt to her, a gown
Wrought all with growing-rose-buds, reaching down
T’ her slender smalls, which buskins did divine,
Such as taught Thetis’ silver feet to shine.
Her soft white neck rich carquenets embraced,
Bright, and with gold in all variety graced,
That to her breasts let down lay there and shone,
As, at her joyful full, the rising Moon.
Her sight show’d miracles. Anchises’ heart
Love took into his hand, and made him part
With these high salutations; “Joy, O Queen!
Whoever of the Blest thy beauties been
That light these entries; or the Deity
That darts affecteth; or that gave the Eye
Of heaven his heat and lustre; or that moves
The hearts of all with all-commanding loves;
Or generous Themis; or the blue-eyed Maid;
Or of the Graces any that are laid
With all the Gods in comparable scales,
And whom fame up to immortality calls;
Or any of the Nymphs, that unshorn groves,
Or that this fair hill-habitation, loves,
Or valleys flowing with earth’s fattest goods,
Or fountains pouring forth eternal floods!
Say, which of all thou art, that in some place
Of circular prospect, for thine eyes’ dear grace,
I may an altar build, and to thy pow’rs
Make sacred all the year’s devoted hours,
With consecrations sweet and opulent.
Assur’d whereof, be thy benign mind bent
To these wish’d blessings of me: Give me parts
Of chief attraction in Trojan hearts;
And, after, give me the refulgency
Of most renown’d and rich posterity;
Long, and free life, and heaven’s sweet light as long;
The people’s blessings, and a health so strong
That no disease it let my life engage,
Till th’ utmost limit of a human age.”
To this Jove’s Seed this answer gave again;
“Anchises! Happiest of the human strain!
I am no Goddess! Why, a thrall to death
Think’st thou like those that immortality breathe?
A woman brought me forth; my father’s name
Was OtreÜs, if ever his high fame
Thine ears have witness’d, for he govern’d all
The Phrygian state, whose every town a wall
Impregnable embrac’d. Your tongue, you hear,
I speak so well, that in my natural sphere
(As I pretend) it must have taken prime.
A woman, likewise, of the Trojan clime
Took of me, in her house, the nurse’s care
From my dear mother’s bosom; and thus are
My words of equal accent with your own.
How here I come, to make the reason known,
Argicides, that bears the golden rod,
Transferr’d me forcibly from my abode
Made with the maiden train of Her that joys
In golden shafts, and loves so well the noise
Of hounds and hunters (heaven’s pure-living Pow’r)
Where many a nymph and maid of mighty dow’r
Chaste sports employ’d, all circled with a crown
Of infinite multitude, to see so shown
Our maiden pastimes. Yet, from all the fair
Of this so forceful concourse, up in air
The golden-rod-sustaining Argus’-Guide
Rapt me in sight of all, and made me ride
Along the clouds with him, enforcing me
Through many a labour of mortality,
Through many an unbuilt region, and a rude,
Where savage beasts devour’d preys warm and crude,
And would not let my fears take one foot’s tread
On Her by whom are all lives comforted,
But said my maiden state must grace the bed
Of king Anchises, and bring forth to thee
Issue as fair as of divine degree.
Which said, and showing me thy moving grace,
Away flew he up to th’ Immortal Race,
And thus came I to thee; Necessity,
With her steel stings, compelling me t’ apply
To her high pow’r my will. But you must I
Implore by Jove, and all the reverence due
To your dear parents, who, in bearing you,
Can bear no mean sail, lead me home to them
An untouch’d maid, being brought up in th’ extreme
Of much too cold simplicity to know
The fiery cunnings that in Venus glow.
Show me to them then, and thy brothers born,
I shall appear none that parts disadorn,
But such as well may serve a brother’s wife,
And show them now, even to my future life,
If such or no my present will extend.
To horse-breed-vary’ng Phrygia likewise send,
T’ inform my sire and mother of my state,
That live for me extreme disconsolate;
Who gold enough, and well-woven weeds, will give.
All whose rich gifts in my amends receive.
All this perform’d, and celebration then
Of honour’d nuptials, that by God and men
Are held in reverence.” All this while she said,
Into his bosom jointly she convey’d
The fires of love; when, all-enamour’d, he
In these terms answer’d: “If mortality
Confine thy fortunes, and a woman were
Mother to those attractions that appear
In thy admir’d form, thy great father given
High name of OtreÜs; and the Spy of heaven
(Immortal Mercury) th’ enforceful cause
That made thee lose the prize of that applause
That modesty immaculate virgins gives,
My wife thou shalt be call’d through both our lives.
Nor shall the pow’rs of men nor Gods withhold
My fiery resolution to enfold
Thy bosom in mine arms; which here I vow
To firm performance, past delay, and now.
Nor, should Apollo with his silver bow
Shoot me to instant death, would I forbear
To do a deed so full of cause so dear.
For with a heaven-sweet woman I will lie,
Though straight I stoop the house of Dis, and die.”
This said, he took her hand, and she took way
With him, her bright eyes casting round; whose stay
She stuck upon a bed, that was before
Made for the king, and wealthy coverings wore.
On which bears’ hides and big-voic’d lions’ lay,
Whose preyful lives the king had made his prey,
Hunting th’ Idalian hills. This bed when they
Had both ascended, first he took from her
The fiery weed, that was her utmost wear;
Unbutton’d her next rosy robe; and loos’d
The girdle that her slender waist enclos’d;
Unlac’d her buskins; all her jewelry
Took from her neck and breasts, and all laid by
Upon a golden-studded chair of state.
Th’ amaze of all which being remov’d, even Fate
And council of the equal Gods gave way
To this, that with a deathless Goddess lay
A deathful man; since, what his love assum’d,
Not with his conscious knowledge was presum’d.
Now when the shepherds and the herdsmen, all,
Turn’d from their flow’ry pasture to their stall,
With all their oxen, fat and frolic sheep,
Venus into Anchises cast a sleep,
Sweet and profound; while with her own hands now
With her rich weeds she did herself endow;
But so distinguish’d, that he clear might know
His happy glories; then (to her desire
Her heavenly person put in trims entire)
She by the bed stood of the well-built stall,
Advanc’d her head to state celestial,
And in her cheeks arose the radiant hue
Of rich-crown’d Venus to apparent view.
And then she rous’d him from his rest, and said:
“Up, my Dardanides, forsake thy bed.
What pleasure, late employ’d, lets humour steep
Thy lids in this inexcitable sleep?
Wake, and now say, if I appear to thee
Like her that first thine eyes conceited me.”
This started him from sleep, though deep and dear,
And passing promptly he enjoy’d his ear.
But when his eye saw Venus’ neck and eyes,
Whose beauties could not bear the counterprise
Of any other, down his own eyes fell,
Which pallid fear did from her view repell,
And made him, with a main respect beside,
Turn his whole person from her state, and hide
(With his rich weed appos’d) his royal face,
These wing’d words using: “When, at first, thy grace
Mine eyes gave entertainment, well I knew
Thy state was deified; but thou told’st not true;
And therefore let me pray thee (by thy love
Borne to thy father, Ægis-bearing Jove)
That thou wilt never let me live to be
An abject, after so divine degree
Taken in fortune, but take ruth on me,
For any man that with a Goddess lies,
Of interest in immortalities,
Is never long-liv’d.” She replied: “Forbear,
O happiest of mortal men, this fear,
And rest assured, that (not for me, at least)
Thy least ills fear fits; no, nor for the rest
Of all the Blessed, for thou art their friend;
And so far from sustaining instant end,
That to thy long-enlarg’d life there shall spring
Amongst the Trojans a dear son, and king,
To whom shall many a son, and son’s son, rise
In everlasting great posterities;
His name Æneas; therein keeping life,
For ever, in my much-conceited grief,
That I, immortal, fell into the bed
Of one whose blood mortality must shed.
But rest thou comforted, and all the race
That Troy shall propagate, in this high grace:
That, past all races else, the Gods stand near
Your glorious nation, for the forms ye bear,
And natures so ingenuous and sincere.
For which, the great-in-counsels (Jupiter)
Your gold-lock’d Ganymedes did transfer
(In rapture far from men’s depressed fates)
To make him consort with our Deified States,
And scale the tops of the Saturnian skies,
He was so mere a marvel in their eyes.
And therefore from a bowl of gold he fills
Red nectar, that the rude distension kills
Of winds that in your human stomachs breed.
But then did languor on the liver feed
Of Tros, his father, that was king of Troy,
And ever did his memory employ[2]
With loss of his dear beauty so bereaven,
Though with a sacred whirlwind rapt to heaven.
But Jove, in pity of him, saw him given
Good compensation, sending by Heaven’s Spy
White-swift-hov’d horse, that Immortality
Had made firm-spirited; and had, beside,
Hermes to see his ambassy supplied
With this vow’d bounty (using all at large
That his unalter’d counsels gave in charge)
That he himself should immortality breathe,
Expert of age and woe as well as death.
“This ambassy express’d, he mourn’d no more,
But up with all his inmost mind he bore,
Joying that he, upon his swift-hov’d horse,
Should be sustain’d in an eternal course.”
“So did the golden-throned Aurora raise,
Into her lap, another that the praise
Of an immortal fashion had in fame,
And of your nation bore the noble name,
(His title Tithon) who, not pleased with her,
As she his lovely person did transfer,
To satisfy him, she bade ask of Jove
The gift of an Immortal for her love.
Jove gave, and bound it with his bowed brow,
Performing to the utmost point his vow.
Fool that she was, that would her love engage,
And not as long ask from the bane of age
The sweet exemption, and youth’s endless flow’r!
Of which as long as both the grace and pow’r
His person entertain’d, she loved the man,
And (at the fluents of the ocean
Near Earth’s extreme bounds) dwelt with him; but when
According to the course of aged men)
On his fair head, and honourable beard,
His first grey hairs to her light eyes appear’d,
She left his bed, yet gave him still for food
The Gods’ ambrosia, and attire as good.
Till even the hate of age came on so fast
That not a lineament of his was grac’d
With pow’r of motion, nor did still sustain,
Much less, the vigour had t’ advance a vein,
The virtue lost in each exhausted limb,
That at his wish before would answer him;
All pow’rs so quite decay’d, that when he spake
His voice no perceptible accent brake.
Her counsel then thought best to strive no more,
But lay him in his bed and lock his door.
Such an Immortal would not I wish thee,
T’ extend all days so to eternity.
But if, as now, thou couldst perform thy course
In grace of form, and all corporeal force,
To an eternal date, thou then shouldst bear
My husband’s worthy name, and not a tear
Should I need rain, for thy deserts declin’d,
From my all-clouded bitterness of mind.
But now the stern storm of relentless age
Will quickly circle thee, that waits t’ engage
All men alike, even loathsomeness, and bane
Attending with it, every human wane,
Which even the Gods hate. Such a penance lies
Impos’d on flesh and blood’s infirmities!
Which I myself must taste in great degree,
And date as endless, for consorting thee.
All the Immortals with my opprobry
Are full by this time; on their hearts so lie,
(Even to the sting of fear) my cunnings us’d,
And wiving conversations infus’d
Into the bosoms of the best of them
With women, that the frail and mortal stream
Doth daily ravish. All this long since done.
Which now no more, but with effusion
Of tears, I must in heaven so much as name,
I have so forfeited in this my fame,
And am impos’d pain of so great a kind
For so much erring from a Goddess’ mind.
For I have put beneath my girdle here
A son, whose sire the human mortal sphere
Gives circumscription. But, when first the light
His eyes shall comfort, Nymphs that haunt the height
Of hills, and breasts have of most deep receipt;
Shall be his nurses; who inhabit now
A hill of so vast and divine a brow,
As man nor God can come at their retreats;
Who live long lives, and eat immortal meats,
And with Immortals in the exercise
Of comely dances dare contend, and rise
Into high question which deserves the prize.
The light Sileni mix in love with these,
And, of all Spies the Prince, Argicides;
In well-trimm’d caves their secret meetings made.
And with the lives of these doth life invade
Or odorous fir-trees, or high-foreheaded oaks,
Together taking their begetting strokes,
And have their lives and deaths of equal dates,
Trees bearing lovely and delightsome states,
Whom Earth first feeds, that men initiates.
On her high hills she doth their states sustain,
And they their own heights raise as high again.
Their growths together made, Nymphs call their groves
Vow’d to th’ Immortals services and loves;
Which men’s steels therefore touch not, but let grow.
But when wise Fates times for their fadings know,
The fair trees still before the fair Nymphs die,
The bark about them grown corrupt and dry,
And all their boughs fall’n yield to Earth her right;
And then the Nymphs’ lives leave the lovely night,
“And these Nymphs in their caves shall nurse my son,
Whom (when in him youth’s first grace is begun)
The Nymphs, his nurses, shall present to thee;
And show thee what a birth thou hast by me.
And, sure as now I tell thee all these things,
When Earth hath cloth’d her plants in five fair springs,
Myself will make return to this retreat,
And bring that flow’r of thy enamour’d heat;
Whom when thou then seest, joy shall fire thine eyes;
He shall so well present the Deities.
And then into thine own care take thy son
From his calm seat to windy Ilion,
Where, if strict question be upon the past,
Asking what mother bore beneath her waist
So dear a son, answer, as I afford
Fit admonition, nor forget a word:
They say a Nymph, call’d Calucopides,
That is with others an inhabitress
On this thy wood-crown’d hill, acknowledges
That she his life gave. But, if thou declare
The secret’s truth, and art so mad to dare
(In glory of thy fortunes) to approve
That rich-crown’d Venus mix’d with thee in love,
Jove, fired with my aspersion so dispread,
Will with a wreakful lightning dart thee dead.
“All now is told thee, comprehend it all.
Be master of thyself, and do not call
My name in question; but with reverence vow
To Deities’ angers all the awe ye owe.”
This said, She reach’d heaven, where airs ever flow.
And so, O Goddess, ever honour’d be,
In thy so odorous Cyprian empery!
My Muse, affecting first thy fame to raise,
Shall make transcension now to others’ praise.

THE END OF THE FIRST HYMN TO VENUS

[1] ?????p????. Altissimum habens verticem, cujus summitas ipsum polum attingit.

[2] ???st??. Cujus memoria erit perpetua.