Chapter 8

So fares the sailor on the stormy main, 520 When clouds conceal Bootes' golden wain, When not a star its friendly lustre keeps, Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the deeps; He dreads the rocks, and shoals, and seas, and skies, While thunder roars, and lightning round him flies.

Thus strove the chief, on every side distress'd; Thus still his courage with his toils increased: With his broad shield opposed, he forced his way Through thickest woods, and roused the beasts of prey Till he beheld, where from Larissa's height, 530 The shelving walls reflect a glancing light: Thither with haste the Theban hero flies; On this side Lerna's poisonous water lies, On that Prosymna's grove and temple rise: He pass'd the gates which then unguarded lay, And to the regal palace bent his way; On the cold marble, spent with toil, he lies, And waits till pleasing slumbers seal his eyes.

Adrastus here his happy people sways, Bless'd with calm peace in his declining days; 540 By both his parents of descent divine, Great Jove and Phoebus graced his noble line: Heaven had not crown'd his wishes with a son, But two fair daughters heir'd his state and throne. To him Apollo (wondrous to relate! But who can pierce into the depths of fate?) Had sung--'Expect thy sons on Argos' shore, A yellow lion and a bristly boar.' This, long revolved in his paternal breast, Sat heavy on his heart, and broke his rest; 550 This, great Amphiaraus! lay hid from thee, Though skill'd in fate and dark futurity. The father's care and prophet's art were vain, For thus did the predicting god ordain.

Lo, hapless Tydeus, whose ill-fated hand Had slain his brother, leaves his native land, And, seized with horror, in the shades of night, Through the thick deserts headlong urged his flight: Now by the fury of the tempest driven, He seeks a shelter from th' inclement heaven, 560 Till, led by fate, the Theban's steps he treads, And to fair Argos' open court succeeds.

When thus the chiefs from different lands resort To Adrastus' realms and hospitable court, The king surveys his guests with curious eyes, And views their arms and habit with surprise. A lion's yellow skin the Theban wears, Horrid his mane, and rough with curling hairs: Such once employ'd Alcides' youthful toils, Ere yet adorn'd with Nemea's dreadful spoils. 570 A boar's stiff hide, of Calydonian breed, Oenides' manly shoulders overspread; Oblique his tusks, erect his bristles stood, Alive, the pride and terror of the wood.

Struck with the sight, and fix'd in deep amaze, The king th' accomplish'd oracle surveys, Reveres Apollo's vocal caves, and owns The guiding godhead, and his future sons. O'er all his bosom secret transports reign, And a glad horror shoots through every vein: 580 To heaven he lifts his hands, erects his sight, And thus invokes the silent queen of night:

'Goddess of shades! beneath whose gloomy reign Yon spangled arch glows with the starry train; You who the cares of heaven and earth allay Till nature, quicken'd by th' inspiring ray, Wakes to new vigour with the rising day: O thou who freest me from my doubtful state, Long lost and wilder'd in the maze of fate, Be present still, O goddess! in our aid; 590 Proceed, and firm those omens thou hast made. We to thy name our annual rites will pay, And on thy altars sacrifices lay; The sable flock shall fall beneath the stroke, And fill thy temples with a grateful smoke. Hail, faithful Tripos! hail, ye dark abodes Of awful Phoebus; I confess the gods!'

Thus, seized with sacred fear, the monarch pray'd; Then to his inner court the guests convey'd, Where yet thin fumes from dying sparks arise, 600 And dust yet white upon each altar lies, The relics of a former sacrifice. The king once more the solemn rites requires, And bids renew the feasts and wake the fires. His train obey; while all the courts around With noisy care and various tumult sound. Embroider'd purple clothes the golden beds; This slave the floor, and that the table spreads; A third dispels the darkness of the night, And fills depending lamps with beams of light; 610 Here loaves in canisters are piled on high, And there in flames the slaughter'd victims fly. Sublime in regal state Adrastus shone, Stretch'd on rich carpets on his ivory throne; A lofty couch receives each princely guest; Around, at awful distance, wait the rest.

And now the king, his royal feast to grace, Acestis calls, the guardian of his race, Who first their youth in arts of virtue train'd, And their ripe years in modest grace maintain'd; 620 Then softly whisper'd in her faithful ear, And bade his daughters at the rites appear. When from the close apartments of the night The royal nymphs approach, divinely bright, Such was Diana's, such Minerva's face; Nor shine their beauties with superior grace, But that in these a milder charm endears, And less of terror in their looks appears. As on the heroes first they cast their eyes, O'er their fair cheeks the glowing blushes rise; 630 Their downcast looks a decent shame confess'd, Then on their father's reverend features rest.

The banquet done, the monarch gives the sign To fill the goblet high with sparkling wine, Which Danaus used in sacred rites of old, With sculpture graced, and rough with rising gold: Here to the clouds victorious Perseus flies, Medusa seems to move her languid eyes, And, e'en in gold, turns paler as she dies: There from the chase Jove's towering eagle bears, 640 On golden wings, the Phrygian to the stars; Still as he rises in th' ethereal height, His native mountains lessen to his sight, While all his sad companions upward gaze, Fix'd on the glorious scene in wild amaze; And the swift hounds, affrighted as he flies, Run to the shade, and bark against the skies.

This golden bowl with generous juice was crown'd, The first libation sprinkled on the ground; By turns on each celestial power they call; 650 With Phoebus' name resounds the vaulted hall. The courtly train, the strangers, and the rest, Crown'd with chaste laurel, and with garlands dress'd, While with rich gums the fuming altars blaze, Salute the god in numerous hymns of praise.

Then thus the king: 'Perhaps, my noble guests, These honour'd altars, and these annual feasts To bright Apollo's awful name design'd, Unknown, with wonder may perplex your mind. Great was the cause: our old solemnities 660 From no blind zeal or fond tradition rise; But saved from death, our Argives yearly pay These grateful honours to the god of day.

'When by a thousand darts the Python slain, With orbs unroll'd lay covering all the plain, (Transfix'd as o'er Castalia's streams he hung, And suck'd new poisons with his triple tongue), To Argos' realms the victor god resorts, And enters old Crotopus' humble courts. This rural prince one only daughter bless'd, 670 That all the charms of blooming youth possess'd; Pair was her face, and spotless was her mind, Where filial love with virgin sweetness join'd: Happy! and happy still she might have proved, Were she less beautiful, or less beloved! But Phoebus loved, and on the flowery side Of Nemea's stream the yielding fair enjoy'd. Now, ere ten moons their orb with light adorn, Th' illustrious offspring of the god was born; The nymph, her father's anger to evade, 680 Retires from Argos to the sylvan shade; To woods and wilds the pleasing burden bears, And trusts her infant to a shepherd's cares.

'How mean a fate, unhappy child! is thine! Ah! how unworthy those of race divine! On flowery herbs in some green covert laid, His bed the ground, his canopy the shade, He mixes with the bleating lambs his cries, While the rude swain his rural music tries, To call soft slumbers on his infant eyes. 690 Yet ev'n in those obscure abodes to live Was more, alas! than cruel fate would give; For on the grassy verdure as he lay, And breathed the freshness of the early day, Devouring dogs the helpless infant tore, Fed on his trembling limbs, and lapp'd the gore. Th' astonish'd mother, when the rumour came, Forgets her father, and neglects her fame; With loud complaints she fills the yielding air, And beats her breast, and rends her flowing hair; 700 Then, wild with anguish, to her sire she flies, Demands the sentence, and contented dies.

'But, touch'd with sorrow for the deed too late, The raging god prepares t' avenge her fate. He sends a monster horrible and fell, Begot by Furies in the depths of hell. The pest a virgin's face and bosom bears; High on her crown a rising snake appears, Guards her black front, and hisses in her hairs: About the realm she walks her dreadful round, 710 When Night with sable wings o'erspreads the ground, Devours young babes before their parents' eyes, And feeds and thrives on public miseries.

'But generous rage the bold Choroebus warms, Choroebus, famed for virtue as for arms. Some few like him, inspired with martial flame, Thought a short life well lost for endless fame. These, where two ways in equal parts divide, The direful monster from afar descried, Two bleeding babes depending at her side, 720 Whose panting vitals, warm with life, she draws, And in their hearts imbrues her cruel claws. The youths surround her with extended spears; But brave Choroebus in the front appears; Deep in her breast he plunged his shining sword, And hell's dire monster back to hell restored. Th' Inachians view the slain with vast surprise, Her twisting volumes, and her rolling eyes, Her spotted breast, and gaping womb, imbrued With livid poison and our children's blood. 730 The crowd in stupid wonder fix'd appear, Pale ev'n in joy, nor yet forget to fear. Some with vast beams the squalid corse engage, And weary all the wild efforts of rage. The birds obscene, that nightly flock'd to taste, With hollow screeches fled the dire repast; And ravenous dogs, allured by scented blood, And starving wolves, ran howling to the wood.

'But fired with rage, from cleft Parnassus' brow Avenging Phoebus bent his deadly bow, 740 And hissing flew the feather'd fates below: A night of sultry clouds involved around The towers, the fields, and the devoted ground: And now a thousand lives together fled; Death with his scythe cut off the fatal thread, And a whole province in his triumph led.

'But Phoebus, ask'd why noxious fires appear, And raging Sirius blasts the sickly year, Demands their lives by whom his monster fell, And dooms a dreadful sacrifice to hell. 750

'Bless'd be thy dust, and let eternal fame Attend thy manes, and preserve thy name, Undaunted hero! who, divinely brave, In such a cause disdained thy life to save, But view'd the shrine with a superior look, And its upbraided godhead thus bespoke: "With piety, the soul's securest guard, And conscious virtue, still its own reward, Willing I come, unknowing how to fear, Nor shalt thou, Phoebus, find a suppliant here: 760 Thy monster's death to me was owed alone, And 'tis a deed too glorious to disown. Behold him here, for whom, so many days, Impervious clouds conceal'd thy sullen rays; For whom, as man no longer claim'd thy care, Such numbers fell by pestilential air! But if th' abandon'd race of human kind From gods above no more compassion find; If such inclemency in heaven can dwell, Yet why must unoffending Argos feel 770 The vengeance due to this unlucky steel? On me, on me, let all thy fury fall, Nor err from me, since I deserve it all: Unless our desert cities please thy sight, Or funeral flames reflect a grateful light. Discharge thy shafts, this ready bosom rend, And to the shades a ghost triumphant send; But for my country let my fate atone; Be mine the vengeance, as the crime my own!"

'Merit distress'd, impartial heaven relieves: 780 Unwelcome life relenting Phoebus gives; For not the vengeful power, that glow'd with rage, With such amazing virtue durst engage. The clouds dispersed, Apollo's wrath expired, And from the wondering god th' unwilling youth retired. Thence we these altars in his temple raise, And offer annual honours, feasts, and praise; These solemn feasts propitious Phoebus please; These honours, still renew'd, his ancient wrath appease.

'But say, illustrious guest, (adjoin'd the king) 790 What name you bear, from what high race you spring? The noble Tydeus stands confess'd, and known Our neighbour prince, and heir of Calydon: Relate your fortunes, while the friendly night And silent hours to various talk invite.'

The Theban bends on earth his gloomy eyes, Confused, and sadly thus at length replies:-- 'Before these altars how shall I proclaim (O generous prince!) my nation or my name, Or through what veins our ancient blood has roll'd? 800 Let the sad tale for ever rest untold! Yet if, propitious to a wretch unknown, You seek to share in sorrows not your own, Know then from Cadmus I derive my race, Jocasta's son, and Thebes my native place.'

To whom the king (who felt his generous breast Touch'd with concern for his unhappy guest) Replies--'Ah! why forbears the son to name His wretched father, known too well by fame? Fame, that delights around the world to stray, 810 Scorns not to take our Argos in her way. Ev'n those who dwell where suns at distance roll, In northern wilds, and freeze beneath the pole, And those who tread the burning Libyan lands, The faithless Syrtes, and the moving sands; Who view the western sea's extremest bounds, Or drink of Ganges in their eastern grounds; All these the woes of Oedipus have known, Your fates, your furies, and your haunted town. If on the sons the parents' crimes descend, 820 What prince from those his lineage can defend? Be this thy comfort, that 'tis thine t' efface, With virtuous acts, thy ancestors' disgrace, And be thyself the honour of thy race. But see! the stars begin to steal away, And shine more faintly at approaching day; Now pour the wine; and in your tuneful lays Once more resound the great Apollo's praise.'

'O father Phoebus! whether Lycia's coast And snowy mountains thy bright presence boast: 830 Whether to sweet Castalia thou repair, And bathe in silver dews thy yellow hair; Or pleased to find fair Delos float no more, Delight in Cynthus and the shady shore; Or choose thy seat in Ilion's proud abodes, The shining structures raised by labouring gods: By thee the bow and mortal shafts are borne; Eternal charms thy blooming youth adorn: Skill'd in the laws of secret fate above, And the dark counsels of almighty Jove, 840 'Tis thine the seeds of future war to know, The change of sceptres and impending woe, When direful meteors spread through glowing air Long trails of light and shake their blazing hair. Thy rage the Phrygian felt, who durst aspire T' excel the music of thy heavenly lyre; Thy shafts avenged lewd Tityus' guilty flame, Th' immortal victim of thy mother's fame; Thy hand slew Python, and the dame who lost Her numerous offspring for a fatal boast. 850 In Phlegyas' doom thy just revenge appears, Condemn'd to Furies and eternal fears; He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye, The mouldering rock that trembles from on high.

'Propitious hear our prayer, O power divine! And on thy hospitable Argos shine; Whether the style of Titan please thee more, Whose purple rays th' Achaemenes adore: Or great Osiris, who first taught the swain In Pharian fields to sow the golden grain; 860 Or Mithra, to whose beams the Persian bows, And pays, in hollow rocks, his awful vows; Mithra! whose head the blaze of light adorns, Who grasps the struggling heifer's lunar horns.'

* * * * *

JANUARY AND MAY.

FROM CHAUCER.[58]

There lived in Lombardy, as authors write, In days of old, a wise and worthy knight; Of gentle manners, as of generous race, Bless'd with much sense, more riches, and some grace: Yet, led astray by Venus' soft delights, He scarce could rule some idle appetites: For long ago, let priests say what they could, Weak sinful laymen were but flesh and blood.

But in due time, when sixty years were o'er, He vow'd to lead this vicious life no more; 10 Whether pure holiness inspired his mind, Or dotage turn'd his brain, is hard to find; But his high courage prick'd him forth to wed, And try the pleasures of a lawful bed. This was his nightly dream, his daily care, And to the heavenly powers his constant prayer, Once, ere he died, to taste the blissful life Of a kind husband and a loving wife.

These thoughts he fortified with reasons still (For none want reasons to confirm their will). 20 Grave authors say, and witty poets sing, That honest wedlock is a glorious thing: But depth of judgment most in him appears Who wisely weds in his maturer years. Then let him choose a damsel young and fair, To bless his age, and bring a worthy heir; To soothe his cares, and, free from noise and strife, Conduct him gently to the verge of life. Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore, Full well they merit all they feel, and more: 30 Unawed by precepts, human or divine, Like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join; Nor know to make the present blessing last, To hope the future, or esteem the past: But vainly boast the joys they never tried, And find divulged the secrets they would hide. The married man may bear his yoke with ease, Secure at once himself and Heaven to please; And pass his inoffensive hours away, In bliss all night, and innocence all day: 40 Though fortune change, his constant spouse remains, Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains.

But what so pure which envious tongues will spare? Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair. With matchless impudence they style a wife The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life; A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, A night invasion, and a midday devil. Let not the wise these slanderous words regard, But curse the bones of every lying bard. 50 All other goods by fortune's hand are given, A wife is the peculiar gift of Heaven. Vain fortune's favours, never at a stay, Like empty shadows, pass, and glide away; One solid comfort, our eternal wife, Abundantly supplies us all our life: This blessing lasts (if those who try say true) As long as heart can wish--and longer too.

Our grandsire Adam, ere of Eve possess'd, Alone, and e'en in Paradise unbless'd, 60 With mournful looks the blissful scenes survey'd, And wander'd in the solitary shade. The Maker saw, took pity, and bestow'd Woman, the last, the best reserved of God.

A wife! ah, gentle deities! can he That has a wife e'er feel adversity? Would men but follow what the sex advise, All things would prosper, all the world grow wise. Twas by Rebecca's aid that Jacob won His father's blessing from an elder son: 70 Abusive Nabal owed his forfeit life To the wise conduct of a prudent wife: Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews show, Preserved the Jews, and slew th' Assyrian foe: At Hester's suit, the persecuting sword Was sheath'd, and Israel lived to bless the Lord.

These weighty motives January the sage Maturely ponder'd in his riper age; And, charm'd with virtuous joys, and sober life, Would try that Christian comfort, call'd a wife. 80 His friends were summon'd on a point so nice To pass their judgment, and to give advice; But fix'd before, and well resolved was he; (As men that ask advice are wont to be).

'My friends,' he cried (and cast a mournful look Around the room, and sigh'd before he spoke), 'Beneath the weight of threescore years I bend, And, worn with cares, am hastening to my end: How I have lived, alas! you know too well, In worldly follies which I blush to tell, 90 But gracious Heaven has oped my eyes at last, With due regret I view my vices past, And, as the precept of the church decrees, Will take a wife, and live in holy ease: But since by counsel all things should be done, And many heads are wiser still than one; Choose you for me, who best shall be content When my desire's approved by your consent.

'One caution yet is needful to be told, To guide your choice: this wife must not be old: 100 There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed. My soul abhors the tasteless dry embrace Of a stale virgin with a winter face: In that cold season Love but treats his guest With beanstraw, and tough forage at the best. No crafty widows shall approach my bed; Those are too wise for bachelors to wed. As subtle clerks by many schools are made, Twice-married dames are mistresses o' th' trade: 110 But young and tender virgins, ruled with ease, We form like wax, and mould them as we please.

'Conceive me, sirs, nor take my sense amiss; 'Tis what concerns my soul's eternal bliss; Since, if I found no pleasure in my spouse, As flesh is frail, and who (God help me) knows? Then should I live in lewd adultery, And sink downright to Satan when I die: Or were I cursed with an unfruitful bed, The righteous end were lost for which I wed; 120 To raise up seed to bless the powers above, And not for pleasure only, or for love. Think not I dote; 'tis time to take a wife, When vigorous blood forbids a chaster life: Those that are bless'd with store of grace divine, May live like saints, by Heaven's consent and mine!

'And since I speak of wedlock, let me say (As, thank my stars, in modest truth I may), My limbs are active, still I'm sound at heart, And a new vigour springs in every part. 130 Think not my virtue lost, though time has shed These reverend honours on my hoary head: Thus trees are crown'd with blossoms white as snow, The vital sap then rising from below. Old as I am, my lusty limbs appear Like winter greens, that flourish all the year. Now, sirs, you know to what I stand inclined, Let every friend with freedom speak his mind.'

He said; the rest in different parts divide; The knotty point was urged on either side: 140 Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd, Some praised with wit, and some with reason blamed. Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies, Each wondrous positive and wondrous wise, There fell between his brothers a debate: Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that.

First to the knight Placebo thus begun, (Mild were his looks, and pleasing was his tone): 'Such prudence, sir, in all your words appears, As plainly proves experience dwells with years! 150 Yet you pursue sage Solomon's advice, To work by counsel when affairs are nice: But, with the wise man's leave, I must protest, So may my soul arrive at ease and rest, As still I hold your own advice the best.

'Sir, I have lived a courtier all my days, And studied men, their manners, and their ways; And have observed this useful maxim still. To let my betters always have their will. Nay, if my lord affirm'd that black was white, 160 My word was this, "Your honour's in the right." Th' assuming wit, who deems himself so wise As his mistaken patron to advise, Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought; A noble fool was never in a fault. This, sir, affects not you, whose every word Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a lord: Your will is mine: and is (I will maintain) Pleasing to God, and should be so to man; At least your courage all the world must praise, 170 Who dare to wed in your declining days. Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood, And let gray fools be indolently good, Who, past all pleasure, damn the joys of sense, With reverend dulness and grave impotence.'

Justin, who silent sate, and heard the man, Thus with a philosophic frown began: