For Cytherea’s lips while Cupid prest,
He with a heedless arrow raz’d her breast,
The Goddess felt it, and with fury stung,
The wanton mischief from her bosom flung:
Yet thought at first the danger slight, but found
The dart too faithful, and too deep the wound.
Fir’d with a mortal beauty, she disdains
To haunt th’ Idalian mount, or Phrygian plains.
She seeks not Cnidos, nor her Paphian shrines,
Nor Amathus, that teems with brazen mines:
Ev’n Heav’n itself with all its sweets unsought,
Adonis far a sweeter Heav’n is thought.
On him she hangs, and fonds with ev’ry art,
And never, never knows from him to part.
She, whose soft limbs had only been display’d
On rosie beds beneath the myrtle shade,
Whose pleasing care was to improve each grace,
And add more charms to an unrival’d face,
Now buskin’d, like the virgin huntress, goes
Thro’ woods, and pathless wilds, and mountain-snows
With her own tuneful voice she joys to cheer
The panting hounds, that chace the flying deer.
She runs the labyrinth of fearful hares,
But fearless beasts, and dang’rous prey forbears,
Hunts not the grinning wolf, or foamy boar,
And trembles at the lion’s hungry roar.
Thee too, Adonis, with a lover’s care
She warns, if warn’d thou wou’dst avoid the snare,
To furious animals advance not nigh,
Fly those that follow, follow those that fly;
‘Tis chance alone must the survivors save,
Whene’er brave spirits will attempt the brave.
O! lovely youth! in harmless sports delight;
Provoke not beasts, which, arm’d by Nature, fight.
For me, if not thy self, vouchsafe to fear;
Let not thy thirst of glory cost me dear.
Boars know not bow to spare a blooming age;
No sparkling eyes can sooth the lion’s rage.
Not all thy charms a savage breast can move,
Which have so deeply touch’d the queen of love.
When bristled boars from beaten thickets spring,
In grinded tusks a thunderbolt they bring.
The daring hunters lions rouz’d devour,
Vast is their fury, and as vast their pow’r:
Curst be their tawny race! If thou would’st hear
What kindled thus my hate, then lend an ear:
The wond’rous tale I will to thee unfold,
How the fell monsters rose from crimes of old.
But by long toils I faint: see! wide-display’d,
A grateful poplar courts us with a shade.
The grassy turf, beneath, so verdant shows,
We may secure delightfully repose.
With her Adonis here be Venus blest;
And swift at once the grass and him she prest.
Then sweetly smiling, with a raptur’d mind,
On his lov’d bosom she her head reclin’d,
And thus began; but mindful still of bliss,
Seal’d the soft accents with a softer kiss.
Perhaps thou may’st have heard a virgin’s name,
Who still in swiftness swiftest youths o’ercame.
Wondrous! that female weakness should outdo
A manly strength; the wonder yet is true.
‘Twas doubtful, if her triumphs in the field
Did to her form’s triumphant glories yield;
Whether her face could with more ease decoy
A crowd of lovers, or her feet destroy.
For once Apollo she implor’d to show
If courteous Fates a consort would allow:
A consort brings thy ruin, he reply’d;
O! learn to want the pleasures of a bride!
Nor shalt thou want them to thy wretched cost,
And Atalanta living shall be lost.
With such a rueful Fate th’ affrighted maid
Sought green recesses in the wood-land glade.
Nor sighing suiters her resolves could move,
She bad them show their speed, to show their love.
He only, who could conquer in the race,
Might hope the conquer’d virgin to embrace;
While he, whose tardy feet had lagg’d behind,
Was doom’d the sad reward of death to find.
Tho’ great the prize, yet rigid the decree,
But blind with beauty, who can rigour see?
Ev’n on these laws the fair they rashly sought,
And danger in excess of love forgot.
There sat Hippomenes, prepar’d to blame
In lovers such extravagance of flame.
And must, he said, the blessing of a wife
Be dearly purchas’d by a risk of life?
But when he saw the wonders of her face,
And her limbs naked, springing to the race,
Her limbs, as exquisitely turn’d, as mine,
Or if a woman thou, might vie with thine,
With lifted hands, he cry’d, forgive the tongue
Which durst, ye youths, your well-tim’d courage wrong.
I knew not that the nymph, for whom you strove,
Deserv’d th’ unbounded transports of your love.
He saw, admir’d, and thus her spotless frame
He prais’d, and praising, kindled his own flame.
A rival now to all the youths who run,
Envious, he fears they should not be undone.
But why (reflects he) idly thus is shown
The fate of others, yet untry’d my own?
The coward must not on love’s aid depend;
The God was ever to the bold a friend.
Mean-time the virgin flies, or seems to fly,
Swift as a Scythian arrow cleaves the sky:
Still more and more the youth her charms admires.
The race itself t’ exalt her charms conspires.
The golden pinions, which her feet adorn,
In wanton flutt’rings by the winds are born.
Down from her head, the long, fair tresses flow,
And sport with lovely negligence below.
The waving ribbands, which her buskins tie,
Her snowy skin with waving purple die;
As crimson veils in palaces display’d,
To the white marble lend a blushing shade.
Nor long he gaz’d, yet while he gaz’d, she gain’d
The goal, and the victorious wreath obtain’d.
The vanquish’d sigh, and, as the law decreed,
Pay the dire forfeit, and prepare to bleed.
Then rose Hippomenes, not yet afraid,
And fix’d his eyes full on the beauteous maid.
Where is (he cry’d) the mighty conquest won,
To distance those, who want the nerves to run?
Here prove superior strength, nor shall it be
Thy loss of glory, if excell’d by me.
High my descent, near Neptune I aspire,
For Neptune was grand-parent to my sire.
From that great God the fourth my self I trace,
Nor sink my virtues yet beneath my race.
Thou from Hippomenes, o’ercome, may’st claim
An envy’d triumph, and a deathless fame.
While thus the youth the virgin pow’r defies,
Silent she views him still with softer eyes.
Thoughts in her breast a doubtful strife begin,
If ’tis not happier now to lose, than win.
What God, a foe to beauty, would destroy
The promis’d ripeness of this blooming boy?
With his life’s danger does he seek my bed?
Scarce am I half so greatly worth, she said.
Nor has his beauty mov’d my breast to love,
And yet, I own, such beauty well might move:
‘Tis not his charms, ’tis pity would engage
My soul to spare the greenness of his age.
What, that heroick conrage fires his breast,
And shines thro’ brave disdain of Fate confest?
What, that his patronage by close degrees
Springs from th’ imperial ruler of the seas?
Then add the love, which bids him undertake
The race, and dare to perish for my sake.
Of bloody nuptials, heedless youth, beware!
Fly, timely fly from a too barb’rous fair.
At pleasure chuse; thy love will be repaid
By a less foolish, and more beauteous maid.
But why this tenderness, before unknown?
Why beats, and pants my breast for him alone?
His eyes have seen his num’rous rivals yield;
Let him too share the rigour of the field,
Since, by their fates untaught, his own he courts,
And thus with ruin insolently sports.
Yet for what crime shall he his death receive?
Is it a crime with me to wish to live?
Shall his kind passion his destruction prove?
Is this the fatal recompence of love?
So fair a youth, destroy’d, would conquest shame,
Aud nymphs eternally detest my fame.
Still why should nymphs my guiltless fame upbraid?
Did I the fond adventurer persuade?
Alas! I wish thou would’st the course decline,
Or that my swiftness was excell’d by thine.
See! what a virgin’s bloom adorns the boy!
Why wilt thou run, and why thy self destroy?
Hippomenes! O that I ne’er had been
By those bright eyes unfortunately seen!
Ah! tempt not thus a swift, untimely Fate;
Thy life is worthy of the longest date.
Were I less wretched, did the galling chain
Of rigid Gods not my free choice restrain,
By thee alone I could with joy be led
To taste the raptures of a nuptial bed.
Thus she disclos’d the woman’s secret heart,
Young, innocent, and new to Cupid’s dart.
Her thoughts, her words, her actions wildly rove,
With love she burns, yet knows not that ’tis love.
Her royal sire now with the murm’ring crowd
Demands the race impatiently aloud.
Hippomenes then with true fervour pray’d,
My bold attempt let Venus kindly aid.
By her sweet pow’r I felt this am’rous fire,
Still may she succour, whom she did inspire.
A soft, unenvious wind, with speedy care,
Wafted to Heav’n the lover’s tender pray’r.
Pity, I own, soon gain’d the wish’d consent,
And all th’ assistance he implor’d I lent.
The Cyprian lands, tho’ rich, in richness yield
To that, surnam’d the Tamasenian field.
That field of old was added to my shrine,
And its choice products consecrated mine.
A tree there stands, full glorious to behold,
Gold are the leafs, the crackling branches gold.
It chanc’d, three apples in my hand I bore,
Which newly from the tree I sportive tore;
Seen by the youth alone, to him I brought
The fruit, and when, and how to use it, taught.
The signal sounding by the king’s command,
Both start at once, and sweep th’ imprinted sand.
So swiftly mov’d their feet, they might with ease,
Scarce moisten’d, skim along the glassy seas;
Or with a wondrous levity be born
O’er yellow harvests of unbending corn.
Now fav’ring peals resound from ev’ry part,
Spirit the youth, and fire his fainting heart.
Hippomenes! (they cry’d) thy life preserve,
Intensely labour, and stretch ev’ry nerve.
Base fear alone can baffle thy design,
Shoot boldly onward, and the goal is thine.
‘Tis doubtful whether shouts, like these, convey’d
More pleasures to the youth, or to the maid.
When a long distance oft she could have gain’d,
She check’d her swiftness, and her feet restrain’d:
She sigh’d, and dwelt, and languish’d on his face,
Then with unwilling speed pursu’d the race.
O’er-spent with heat, his breath he faintly drew,
Parch’d was his mouth, nor yet the goal in view,
And the first apple on the plain he threw.
The nymph stop’d sudden at th’ unusual sight,
Struck with the fruit so beautifully bright.
Aside she starts, the wonder to behold,
And eager stoops to catch the rouling gold.
Th’ observant youth past by, and scour’d along,
While peals of joy rung from th’ applauding throng.
Unkindly she corrects the short delay,
And to redeem the time fleets swift away,
Swift, as the lightning, or the northern wind,
And far she leaves the panting youth behind.
Again he strives the flying nymph to hold
With the temptation of the second gold:
The bright temptation fruitlessly was tost,
So soon, alas! she won the distance lost.
Now but a little interval of space
Remain’d for the decision of the race.
Fair author of the precious gift, he said,
Be thou, O Goddess, author of my aid!
Then of the shining fruit the last he drew,
And with his full-collected vigour threw:
The virgin still the longer to detain,
Threw not directly, but a-cross the plain.
She seem’d a-while perplex’d in dubious thought,
If the far-distant apple should be sought:
I lur’d her backward mind to seize the bait,
And to the massie gold gave double weight.
My favour to my votary was show’d,
Her speed I lessen’d, and encreas’d her load.
But lest, tho’ long, the rapid race be run,
Before my longer, tedious tale is done,
The youth the goal, and so the virgin won.
Might I, Adonis, now not hope to see
His grateful thanks pour’d out for victory?
His pious incense on my altars laid?
But he nor grateful thanks, nor incense paid.
Enrag’d I vow’d, that with the youth the fair,
For his contempt, should my keen vengeance share;
That future lovers might my pow’r revere,
And, from their sad examples, learn to fear.
The silent fanes, the sanctify’d abodes,
Of Cybele, great mother of the Gods,
Rais’d by Echion in a lonely wood,
And full of brown, religious horror stood.
By a long painful journey faint, they chose!
Their weary limbs here secret to repose.
But soon my pow’r inflam’d the lustful boy,
Careless of rest he sought untimely joy.
A hallow’d gloomy cave, with moss o’er-grown,
The temple join’d, of native pumice-stone,
Where antique images by priests were kept.
And wooden deities securely slept.
Thither the rash Hippomenes retires,
And gives a loose to all his wild desires,
And the chaste cell pollutes with wanton fires.
The sacred statues trembled with surprize,
The tow’ry Goddess, blushing, veil’d her eyes;
And the lewd pair to Stygian sounds had sent,
But unrevengeful seem’d that punishment,
A heavier doom such black prophaneness draws,
Their taper figures turn to crooked paws.
No more their necks the smoothness can retain,
Now cover’d sudden with a yellow mane.
Arms change to legs: each finds the hard’ning breast
Of rage unknown, and wond’rous strength possest.
Their alter’d looks with fury grim appear,
And on the ground their brushing tails they hear.
They haunt the woods: their voices, which before
Were musically sweet, now hoarsly roar.
Hence lions, dreadful to the lab’ring swains,
Are tam’d by Cybele, and curb’d with reins,
And humbly draw her car along the plains.
But thou, Adonis, my delightful care,
Of these, and beasts, as fierce as these, beware!
The savage, which not shuns thee, timely shun,
For by rash prowess should’st thou be undone,
A double ruin is contain’d in one.
Thus cautious Venus school’d her fav’rite boy;
But youthful heat all cautions will destroy.
His sprightly soul beyond grave counsels flies,
While with yok’d swans the Goddess cuts the skies.
His faithful hounds, led by the tainted wind,
Lodg’d in thick coverts chanc’d a boar to find.
The callow hero show’d a manly heart,
And pierc’d the savage with a side-long dart.
The flying savage, wounded, turn’d again,
Wrench’d out the gory dart, and foam’d with pain.
The trembling boy by flight his safety sought,
And now recall’d the lore, which Venus taught;
But now too late to fly the boar he strove,
Who in the groin his tusks impetuous drove,
On the discolour’d grass Adonis lay,
The monster trampling o’er his beauteous prey.
Fair Cytherea, Cyprus scarce in view,
Heard from afar his groans, and own’d them true,
And turn’d her snowy swans, and backward flew.
But as she saw him gasp his latest breath,
And quiv’ring agonize in pangs of death,
Down with swift flight she plung’d, nor rage forbore,
At once her garments, and her hair she tore.
With cruel blows she beat her guiltless breast,
The Fates upbraided, and her love confest.
Nor shall they yet (she cry’d) the whole devour
With uncontroul’d, inexorable pow’r:
For thee, lost youth, my tears, and restless pain
Shall in immortal monuments remain,
With solemn pomp in annual rites return’d,
Be thou for ever, my Adonis, mourn’d,
Could Pluto’s queen with jealous fury storm,
And Menthe to a fragrant herb transform?
Yet dares not Venus with a change surprise,
And in a flow’r bid her fall’n heroe rise
Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows,
The scented blood in little bubbles rose:
Little as rainy drops, which flutt’ring fly,
Born by the winds, along a low’ring sky.
Short time ensu’d, ’till where the blood was shed,
A flow’r began to rear its purple head:
Such, as on Punick apples is reveal’d,
Or in the filmy rind but half conceal’d.
Still here the Fate of lovely forms we see,
So sudden fades the sweet Anemonie.
The feeble stems, to stormy blasts a prey,
Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away.
The winds forbid the flow’rs to flourish long,
Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song.