Methought Prometheus, from his rock unbound,
Had with the Gods again acceptance found.
Once more he seem'd his wond'rous task to ply,
While all Olympus stood admiring by.
To high designs his heart and hands aspire,
To quicken earthly dust with heavenly fire,
Won by no fraud, but lent by liberal love,
To raise weak mortals to the realms above;
For the bright flame remembers, even on earth,
And pants to reach, the region of its birth.
A female form was now the artist's care;
Faultless in shape, and exquisitely fair.
Of more than Parian purity, the clay
Had all been leaven'd with the ethereal ray.
Deep in the heart the kindling spark began,
And far diffused through every fibre ran;
The eyes reveal'd it, and the blooming skin
Glow'd with the lovely light that shone within.
The applauding Gods confess'd the matchless sight;
The first Pandora was not half so bright;
That beauteous mischief, formed at Jove's command,
A curse to men, by Mulciber's own hand;
Whose eager haste the fatal jar to know,
Fill'd the wide world with all but hopeless woe.
But dawn of better days arose, when He,
The patient Hero, set Prometheus free,
Alcides, to whose toils the joy was given
To conquer Hell and climb the heights of Heaven.
In the fair work that now the master wrought,
The first-fruits of his liberty were brought;
The Gods receive her as a pledge of peace,
And heap their gifts and happiest auspices.
Minerva to the virgin first imparts
Her skill in woman's works and household arts;
The needle's use, the robe's embroider'd bloom,
And all the varied labours of the loom.
Calm fortitude she gave, and courage strong,
To cope with ill and triumph over wrong;
Ingenuous prudence, with prophetic sight,
And clear instinctive wisdom, ever right.
Diana brought the maid her modest mien,
Her love of fountains and the sylvan scene;
The Hours and Seasons lent each varying ray
That gilds the rolling year or changing day.
The cunning skill of Hermes nicely hung,
With subtle blandishments, her sliding tongue,
And train'd her eyes to stolen glances sweet,
And all the wiles of innocent deceit.
Phoebus attuned her ear to love the lyre,
And warm'd her fancy with poetic fire.
Nor this alone; but shared his healing art,
And robb'd his son of all the gentler part;
Taught her with soothing touch and silent tread
To hover lightly round the sick one's bed,
And promised oft to show, when medicines fail,
A woman's watchful tenderness prevail.
Next Venus and the Graces largely shed A shower of fascinations on her head.
Each line, each look, was brighten'd and refined,
Each outward act, each movement of the mind,
Till all her charms confess the soft control,
And blend at once in one harmonious whole.
But still the Eternal Sire apart remain'd,
And Juno's bounty was not yet obtained.
The voice of Heaven's High Queen then fill'd the ear,
"A wife and mother, let the Nymph appear."
The mystic change like quick enchantment shows—
The slender lily blooms a blushing rose.
Three gentle children now, by just degrees,
Are ranged in budding beauty round her knees:
Still to her lips their looks attentive turn,
And drink instruction from its purest urn,
While o'er their eyes soft memories seem to play,
That paint a friend or father far away.
A richer charm her ripen'd form displays,
A halo round her shines with holier rays;
And if at times, a shade of pensive grace
Pass like a cloud across her earnest face,
Yet faithful tokens the glad truth impart,
That deeper happiness pervades her heart.
Jove latest spoke: "One boon remains," he said,
And bent serenely his ambrosial head;
"The last, best boon, which I alone bestow;"
Then bade the waters of Affliction flow.
The golden dream was dimm'd; a darken'd room
Scarce show'd where dire disease had shed its gloom.
A little child in death extended lay,
Still round her linger'd the departing ray.
Another pallid face appear'd, where Life
With its fell foe maintain'd a doubtful strife.
Long was the contest; changeful hopes and fears
Now sunk the Mother's soul, now dried her tears.
At last a steady line of dawning light
Show'd that her son was saved, and banish'd night.
Though sad her heart, of one fair pledge bereft,
She sees and owns the bounties Heaven hath left.
In natural drops her anguish finds relief,
And leaves the Matron beautified by grief;
While consolation, beaming from above,
Fills her with new-felt gratitude and love.
O happy He! before whose waking eyes,
So bright a vision may resplendent rise—
The New Pandora, by the Gods designed,
Not now the bane, but blessing of Mankind!