The Argonauts now stemm’d the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia’s shore their course applied;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas’ sons engage in his relief,
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of harpies, from the monarch’s table chase.
With Jason, then, they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis’ slimy banks at last they gain.
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia’s king, who sternly thus replies:
“That mighty labours they must first o’ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.”

Meanwhile Medea, seized with fierce desire,
By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
But strives in vain;⁠—“Some god,” she said, “withstands,
And Reason’s baffled counsel countermands.
What unseen power does this disorder move?
’Tis love⁠—at least ’tis like what men call love.
Else wherefore should the king’s commands appear
To me too hard?⁠—But so indeed they are.
Why should I for a stranger fear, lest he
Should perish, whom I did but lately see?
His death or safety, what are they to me?
Wretch! from thy virgin breast this flame expel,
And soon⁠—O! could I, all would then be well.
But love, resistless love, my soul invades:
Discretion this, affection that, persuades.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong, and yet⁠—the wrong pursue.
Why, royal maid, shouldst thou desire to wed
A wanderer, and court a foreign bed?
Thy native land, though barb’rous, can present
A bridegroom worth a royal bride’s consent;
And whether this adventurer lives or dies,
In Fate and Fortune’s fickle pleasure lies.
Yet may he live! for to the powers above,
A virgin, led by no impulse of love,
So just a suit may, for the guiltless, move.
Whom would not Jason’s valour, youth, and blood,
Invite? or, could these merits be withstood,
At least his charming person must incline
The hardest heart⁠—I’m sure ’tis so with mine!
Yet, if I help him not, the flaming breath
Of bulls, and earthborn foes, must be his death:
Or, should he through these dangers force his way,
At last he must be made the dragon’s prey.
If no remorse for such distress I feel,
I am a tigress, and my breast is steel.
Why do I scruple then to see him slain,
And with the tragic scene my eyes profane?
My magic’s art employ, not to assuage
The savages, but to inflame their rage?
His earthborn foes to fiercer fury move,
And accessary to his niurder prove?
The gods forbid!⁠—but prayers are idle breath,
When action only can prevent his death.
Shall I betray my father, and the state,
To intercept a rambling hero’s fate,
Who may sail off next hour, and, saved from harms
By my assistance, bless another’s arms?
While I, not only of my hopes bereft,
But to unpitied punishment am left.
If he is false, let the ingrateful bleed!
But no such symptom in his looks I read.
Nature would ne’er have lavish’d so much grace
Upon his person, if his soul were base.
Besides, he first shall plight his faith, and swear
By all the gods; what therefore canst thou fear?
Medea haste, from danger set him free,
Jason shall thy eternal debtor be.
And thou, his queen, with sovereign state install’d,
By Grecian dames, the kind preserver call’d.
Hence! idle dreams, by lovesick fancy bred;
Wilt thou, Medea, by vain wishes led,
To sister, brother, father, bid adieu?
Forsake thy country’s gods, and country too?
My father’s harsh, my brother but a child,
My sister rivals me, my country’s wild;
And, for its gods, the greatest of them all
Inspires my breast, and I obey his call.
That great endearments I forsake, is true,
But greater far the hopes that I pursue.
The pride of having saved the youths of Greece
(Each life more precious than our golden fleece);
A nobler soil by me shall be possess’d,
I shall see towns with arts and manners bless’d;
And, what I prize above the world beside,
Enjoy my Jason⁠—and when once his bride,
Be more than mortal, and to gods allied.
They talk of hazards I must first sustain,
Of floating islands justling in the main;
Our tender bark exposed to dreadful shocks
Of fierce Charybdis’ gulf, and Scylla’s rocks,
Where breaking waves in whirling eddies roll,
And ravenous dogs that in deep caverns howl:
Amid these terrors, while I lie possess’d
Of him I love, and lean on Jason’s breast,
In tempests unconcern’d I will appear,
Or only for my husband’s safety fear.
Didst thou say husband?⁠—canst thou so deceive
Thyself, fond maid, and thy own cheat believe?
In vain thou strivest to varnish o’er thy shame,
And grace thy guilt with wedlock’s sacred name.
Pull off the cozening mask, and, O! in time
Discover and avoid the fatal crime.”
She ceased⁠—the Graces now, with kind surprise,
And Virtue’s lovely train, before her eyes
Present themselves, and vanquish’d Cupid flies.

She then retires to Hecate’s shrine, that stood
Far in the covert of a shady wood:
She finds the fury of her flames assuaged,
But, seeing Jason there, again they raged.
Blushes and paleness did by turns invade
Her tender cheeks, and secret grief betray’d.
As fire, that sleeping under ashes lies,
Fresh blown, and roused, does up in blazes rise,
So flamed the virgin’s breast⁠—
New kindled by her lover’s sparkling eyes.
For chance, that day, had, with uncommon grace
Adorn’d the lovely youth, and through his face
Display’d an air so pleasing, as might charm
A goddess, and a vestal’s bosom warm.
Her rayish’d eyes survey him o’er and o’er,
As some gay wonder never seen before;
Transported to the skies she seems to be,
And thinks she gazes on a deity.
But, when he spoke, and press’d her trembling hand,
And did, with tender words, her aid demand,
With vows, and oaths, to make her soon his bride,
She wept a flood of tears, and thus replied:
“I see my error, yet to ruin move,
Nor owe my fate to ignorance, but love:
Your life I’ll guard, and only crave of you
To swear once more, and⁠—to your oath be true.”
He swears, by Hecate he would all fulfil,
And by her grandfather’s prophetic skill,
By every thing that doubting love could press,
His present danger, and desired success.
She credits him, and kindly does produce
Enchanted herbs, and teaches him their use.
Their mystic names and virtues he admires,
And with his booty joyfully retires.

Impatient for the wonders of the day,
Aurora drives the loit’ring stars away.
Now Mars’s mount the pressing people fill,
The crowd below, the nobles crown the hill;
The king himself high-throned above the rest,
With iv’ry sceptre, and in purple dress’d.

Forthwith the brass-hoof’d bulls are set at large,
Whose furious nostrils sulph’rous flame discharge:
The blasted herbage by their breath expires;
As forges rumble with excessive fires,
And furnaces with fiercer fury glow,
When water on the panting mass ye throw,
With such a noise, from their convulsive breast,
Through bellowing throats the struggling vapour press’d.

Yet Jason marches up without concern
While on the advent’rous youth the monsters turn
Their glaring eyes, and, eager to engage,
Brandish their steel-tipp’d horns in threat’ning rage;
With brazen hoofs they beat the ground, and choke
The ambient air with clouds of dust and smoke:
Each gazing Grecian for his champion shakes,
While bold advances he securely makes
Through singing blasts; such wonders magic art
Can work, when Love conspires, and plays his part.
The passive savages like statues stand,
While he their dewlaps strokes with soothing hand;
To unknown yokes their brawny necks they yield,
And, like tame oxen, plough the wond’ring field.
The Colchians stare; the Grecians shout, and raise
Their champion’s courage with inspiring praise.

Imbolden’d now, on fresh attempts he goes,
With serpent’s teeth the fertile furrows sows;
The glebe fermenting, with enchanted juice,
Makes the snake’s teeth a human crop produce:
For, as an infant, pris’ner to the womb,
Contented sleeps, till to perfection come,
Then does the cell’s obscure confinement scorn,
He tosses, throbs, and presses to be born,
So, from the lab’ring earth, no single birth,
But a whole troop of lusty youths, rush forth;
And, what’s more strange, with martial fury warm’d,
And for encounter all completely arm’d;
In rank and file, as they were sow’d, they stand,
Impatient for the signal of command.
No foe but the Aemonian youth appears;
At him they level their steel-pointed spears;
His frighted friends, who triumph’d just before,
With peals of sighs, his desperate case deplore;
And where such hardy warriors are afraid,
What must the tender and enamour’d maid?
Her spirits sink, the blood her cheek forsook;
She fears, who for his safety undertook;
She knew the virtue of the spells she gave,
She knew the force, and knew her lover brave:
But what’s a single champion to a host?
Yet, scorning thus to see him tamely lost,
Her strong reserve of secret arts she brings,
And last, her never-failing song she sings.
Wonders ensue; among his gazing foes
The massy fragment of a rock he throws;
This charm in civil war engaged them all;
By mutual wounds those earthborn brothers fall.

The Greeks, transported with the strange success,
Leap from their seats the conq’ror to caress;
Commend, and kiss, and clasp him in their arms
So would the kind contriver of the charms;
But her, who felt the tenderest concern,
Honour condemns in secret flames to burn;
Committed to a double guard of fame,
Awed by a virgin’s and a princess’ name.
But thoughts are free, and fancy unconfined,
She kisses, courts, and hugs him in her mind;
To fav’ring powers her silent thanks she gives,
By whose indulgence her loved hero lives.

One labour more remains, and, though the last,
In danger far surmounting all the past;
That enterprise, by Fates, in store was kept,
To make the dragon sleep, that never slept,
Whose crest shoots dreadful lustre; from his jaws
A triple tire of forked stings he draws,
With fangs, and wings of a prodigious size:
Such was the guardian of the golden prize.
Yet him, besprinkled with Lethaean dew,
The fair enchantress into slumber threw;
And then, to fix him, thrice she did repeat
The rhyme, that makes the raging winds retreat;
In stormy seas can halcyon seasons make,
Turn rapid streams into a standing lake;
While the soft guest his drowsy eyelids seals,
The unguarded golden fleece the stranger steals;
Proud to possess the purchase of the toil,
Proud of his royal bride, the richer spoil;
To sea both prize and patroness he bore,
And lands triumphant on his native shore.

Aemonian matrons, who their absence mourn’d,
Rejoice to see their prosp’rous sons reiurn’d:
Rich curling fumes of incense feast the skies,
A hecatomb of voted victims dies,
With gilded horns, and garlands on their head,
And all the pomp of death, to the altar led.
Congratulating bowls go briskly round,
Triumphant shouts in louder music drown’d.
Amid these revels, why that cloud of care
On Jason’s brow? (to whom the largest share
Of mirth was due)⁠—his father was not there.
Aeson was absent, once the young and brave,
Now crush’d with years, and bending to the grave.
At last withdrawn, and by the crowd unseen,
Pressing her hand (with starting sighs between),
He supplicates his kind and skilful queen.

“O patroness, preserver of my life!
(Dear when my mistress, and much dearer wife)
Your favours to so vast a sum amount,
’Tis past the power of numbers to recount;
Or, could they be to computation brought,
The history would a romance be thought:
And yet, unless you add one favour more,
Greater than all that you conferr’d before,
But not too hard for love and magic skill,
Your past are thrown away, and Jason’s wretched still.
The morning of my life is just begun,
But my declining father’s race is run;
From my large stock retrench the long arrears,
And add them to expiring Aeson’s years.”

Thus spake the generous youth, and wept the rest
Moved with the piety of his request,
To his aged sire such filial duty shown,
So different from her treatment of her own,
But still endeav’ring her remorse to hide,
She check’d her rising sighs, and thus replied:

“How could the thought of such inhuman wrong
Escape,” said she, “from pious Jason’s tongue?
Does the whole world another Jason bear,
Whose life Medea can to yours prefer?
Or could I with so dire a change dispense,
Hecate will never join in that offence:
Unjust is the request you make, and I,
In kindness, your petition shall deny;
Yet she, that grants not what you do implore,
Shall yet essay to give her Jason more,
Find means to increase the stock of Aeson’s years,
Without retrenchment of your life’s arrears,
Provided that the triple goddess join
A strong confederate in my bold design.”

Thus was her enterprise resolved; but still
Three tedious nights are wanting to fulfil
The circling crescents of the increasing moon;
Then, in the height of her nocturnal noon,
Medea steals from court; her ankles bare,
Her garments closely girt, but loose her hair;
Thus sallied, like a solitary sprite,
She traverses the terrors of the night.

Men, beasts, and birds, in soft repose lay charm’d,
No boist’rous wind the mountain-woods alarm’d;
Nor did those walks of love, the myrtle-trees,
Of am’rous Zephyr hear the whisp’ring breeze;
All elements chain’d in unactive rest,
No sense but what the twinkling stars express’d;
To them (that only waked) she rears her arms,
And thus commences her mysterious charms.

She turn’d her thrice about, as oft she threw
On her pale tresses the nocturnal dew,
Then yelling thrice a most enormous sound,
Her bare knee bended on the flinty ground,
“O Night,” said she, “thou confidant and guide
Of secrets, such as darkness ought to hide;
Ye stars and moon, that, when the sun retires,
Support his empire with succeeding fires;
And thou, great Hecate, friend to ny design;
Songs, mutt’ring spells, your magic forces join;
And thou, O Earth, the magazine that yields
The midnight sorc’rer drugs; skies, mountains, fields;
Ye watery powers of fountain, stream, and lake;
Ye sylvan gods, and gods of night, awake,
And generously your parts in my adventure take.

“Oft, by your aid, swift currents I have led,
Through wand’ring banks, back to their fountain-head;
Transform’d the prospect of the briny deep;
Made sleeping billows rave, and raving billows sleep
Made clouds or sunshine, tempests rise or fall,
And stubborn, lawless winds obey my call;
With mutter’d words disarm’d the viper’s jaw,
Up by the roots vast oaks and rocks could draw;
Make forests dance, and trembling mountains come,
Like malefactors, to receive their doom:
Earth groan, and frighted ghosts forsake their tomb;
Thee, Cynthia, my resistless rhymes drew down,
When tinkling cymbals strove my voice to drown,
Nor stronger Titan could their force sustain,
In full career, compell’d to stop his wain;
Nor could Aurora’s virgin blush avail,
With pois’nous herbs I turn’d their roses pale;
The fury of the fiery bulls I broke,
Their stubborn necks submitting to my yoke;
And when the sons of Earth with fury burn’d,
Their hostile rage upon themselves I turn’d;
The brothers made with mutual wounds to bleed,
And by their fatal strife my lover freed;
And, while the dragon slept, to distant Greece,
Through cheated guards, convey’d the golden fleece.
But now to bolder action I proceed,
Of such prevailing juices now have need,
That wither’d years back to their bloom can bring,
And in dead winter raise a second spring.
And you’ll perform ’t⁠—
You will; for lo! the stars, with sparkling fires,
Presage as bright success to my desires:
And, now, another happy omen see!
A chariot drawn by dragons waits for me.”

With these last words she leaps into the wain,
Strokes the snakes’ necks, and shakes the golden rein;
That signal given, they mount up is the skies,
And now beneath her fruitful Tempe lies,
Whose stores she ransacks; then to Crete she flies;
There Ossa, Pelion, Othrys, Pindus, all
To the fair ravisher a booty fall;
The tribute of their verdure she collects,
Nor proud Olympus’ height his plants protects.
Some by the roots she plucks; the tender tops
Of others with her culling sickle crops.
Nor could the plunder of the hills suffice,
Down to the humble vales and meads she flies.
A pidanus, Amphrysus, the next rape
Sustain, nor could Enipeus’ bank escape;
Through Beebes marsh, and through the border ranged,
Whose pasture Glaucus to a triton changed.

Now the ninth day, and ninth successive night,
Had wonder’d at the restless rover’s flight;
Meanwhile her dragons, fed with no repast,
But her exhaling simples’ od’rous blast,
Their tarnish’d scales and wrinkled skins had cast.
At last return’d before her palace gate,
Quitting her chariot, on the ground she sate,
The sky her only canopy of state.
All conversation with her sex she fled,
Shunn’d the caresses of the nuptial bed;
Two altars next of grassy turf she rears,
This Hecate’s name, that youth’s inscription bears;
With forest boughs and vervain these she crown’d,
Then delves a double trench in lower ground,
And sticks a black-fleeced ram, that ready stood,
And drench’d the ditches with devoted blood:
New wine she pours, and milk from the udder warm,
With mystic murmurs to complete the charm,
And subterranean deities alarm.
To the stern king of ghosts she next applied,
And gentle Proserpine, his injured bride,
That for old Aeson with the laws of fate
They would dispense, and lengthen his short date.
Thus with repeated prayers she long assails
The infernal tyrant, and at last prevails;
Then calls to have decrepit Aeson brought,
And stupifies him with a sleeping draught.
On earth his body, like a corpse, extends,
Then charges Jason and his waiting friends
To quit the place, that no unhallow’d eye
Into her art’s forbidden secrets pry.
This done, the enchantress, with her locks unbound,
About her altars trips a frantic round;
Piecemeal the consecrated wood she splits,
And dips the splinters in the bloody pits,
Then hurls them on the piles; the sleeping sire
She lustrates thrice, with sulphur, water, fire.

In a large cauldron now the med’cine boils,
Compounded of her late collected spoils;
Blending into the mesh the various powers
Of wonder-working juices, roots, and flowers;
With gems i’ the eastern ocean’s cell refined,
And such as ebbing tides had left behind;
To them the midnight’s pearly dew she flings,
A screech-owl’s carcass, and ill-boding wings;
Nor could the wizard wolf’s warm entrails ’scape
(That wolf who counterfeits a human shape).
Then, from the bottom of her conj’ring bag,
Snakes’ skins, and liver of a long-lived stag;
Last a crow’s head, to such an age arrived,
That he had now nine centuries survived.
These, and with these a thousand more that grew
In sundry soils, into her pot she threw;
Then with a wither’d olive-bough she rakes
The bubbling broth; the bough fresh verdure takes;
Green leaves at first the perish’d plant surround,
Which the next minute with ripe fruit were crown’d.
The foaming juices now the brink o’erswell;
The barren heath, where’er the liquor fell,
Sprang out with vernal grass, and all the pride
Of blooming May. When this Medea spied,
She cut her patient’s throat; the exhausted blood
Recruiting with her new-enchanted flood;
While at his mouth, and through his opening wound,
A double inlet her infusion found;
His feeble frame resumes a youthful air,
A glossy brown his hoary beard and hair.
The meager paleness from his aspect fled,
And in its room sprang up a florid red;
Through all his limbs a youthful vigour flies,
His emptied arteries swell with fresh supplies;
Gazing spectators scarce believe their eyes.
But Aeson is the most surprised to find
A happy change in body and in mind;
In sense and constitution the same man,
As when his fortieth active year began.

Bacchus, who from the clouds this wonder view’d,
Medea’s method instantly pursued,
And his indulgent nurse’s youth renew’d.

Thus far obliging love employ’d her art,
But now revenge must act a tragic part.

Medea feigns a mortal quarrel bred
Betwixt her and the partner of her bed;
On this pretence to Pelias’ court she flies,
Who languishing with age and sickness lies:
His guiltless daughters, with inveigling wiles,
And well-dissembled friendship, she beguiles:
The strange achievements of her art she tells,
With Aeson’s cure, and long on that she dwells,
Till them to firm persuasion she has won,
The same for their old father may be done:
For him they court her to employ her skill,
And put upon the cure what price she will.
At first she’s mute, and with a grave pretence
Of difficulty, holds them in suspense
Then promises, and bids them from the fold
Choose out a ram, the most infirm and old;
That so by facts their doubts may be removed,
And first on him the operation proved.

A wreath-horn’d ram is brought, so far o’ergrown
With years, his age was to that age unknown;
Of sense too dull the piercing point to feel,
And scarce sufficient blood to stain the steel.
His carcass she into a cauldron threw,
With drugs whose vital qualities she knew;
His limbs grow less, he casts his horns and years,
And tender bleatings strike their wond’ring ears.
Then instantly leaps forth a frisking lamb,
That seeks (too young to graze) a suckling dam.
The sisters, thus confirm’d with the success,
Her promise with renew’d entreaty press.
To countenance the cheat, three nights and days
Before experiment the enchantress stays;
Then into limpid water, from the springs,
Woods and ingredients of no force she flings;
With antique ceremonies for pretence,
And rambling rhymes without a word of sense.

Meanwhile the king, with all his guards, lay bound
In magic sleep, scarce that of death so sound;
The daughters now are by the sorc’ress led
Into his chamber, and surround his bed.
“Your father’s health’s concern’d, and can ye stay?
Unnatural nymphs, why this unkind delay?
Unsheath your swords, dismiss his lifeless blood,
And I’ll recruit it with a vital flood.
Your father’s life and health are in your hand,
And can ye thus like idle gazers stand?
Unless you are of common sense bereft,
If yet one spark of piety is left,
Despatch a father’s cure, and disengage
The monarch from his toilsome load of age:
Come, drench your weapons in his putrid gore;
’Tis charity to wound, when wounding will restore.”

Thus urged, the poor deluded maids proceed,
Betray’d by zeal to an inhuman deed,
And, in compassion, make a father bleed.
Yes, she who had the kindest, tend’rest heart,
Is foremost to perform the bloody part.

Yet, though to act the butchery betray’d,
They could not bear to see the wounds they made;
With looks averted, backward they advance,
Then strike and stab, and leave the blows to chance.

Waking in consternation, he essays
(Welt’ring in blood) his feeble arms to raise,
Environ’d with so many swords. “From whence
This barb’rous usage? what is my offence?
What fatal fury, what infernal charm,
’Gainst a kind father does his daughters arm?”

Hearing his voice, as thunderstruck, they stopp’d,
Their resolution and their weapons dropp’d;
Medea then the mortal blow bestows,
And, that perform’d, the tragic scene to close,
His corpse into the boiling cauldron throws.

Then, dreading the revenge that must ensue,
High mounted on her dragon coach she few;
And in her stately progress through the skies,
Beneath her shady Pelion first she spies,
With Othrys, that above the clouds did rise,
With skilful Chiron’s cave, and neighb’ring ground,
For old Cerambus’ strange escape renown’d,
By nymphs deliver’d when the world was drown’d,
Who him with unexpected wings supplied,
When deluged hills a safe retreat denied.
Aeolian Pitane on her left hand
She saw, and there the statued dragon stand,
With Ida’s grove, where Bacchus, to disguise
His son’s bold theft, and to secure the prize,
Made the stolen steer a stag to represent;
Cocytus’ father’s sandy monument;
And fields that held the murder’d sire’s remains,
Where howling Moera frights the startled plains:
Euryphilus’ high town, with towers defaced
By Hercules and matrons more disgraced,
With sprouting horns, in signal punishment,
From Juno or resenting Venus sent.
Then Rhodes, which Phoebus did so dearly prize,
And Jove no less severely did chastise;
For he the wizard native’s pois’ning sight,
That used the farmer’s hopeful crops to blight,
In rage o’erwhelm’d with everlasting night.
Cartheia’s ancient walls come next in view,
Where once the sire almost a statue grew;
With wonder, which a strange event did move,
His daughter turn’d into a turtle-dove.
Then Hyrie’s lake and Tempe’s field o’erran,
Famed for the boy who there became a swan;
For there enamour’d Phyllius, like a slave,
Perform’d what tasks his paramour would crave.
For presents he had mountain-vultures caught,
And from the desert a tame lion brought;
Then a wild bull commanded to subdue;
The conquer’d savage by the horns he drew;
But, mock’d so oft, the treatment he disdains,
And from the craving boy this prize detains.
Then thus in choler the resenting lad:
“Won’t you deliver him? You’ll wish you had.”
No sooner said, but, in a peevish mood,
Leap’d from the precipice on which he stood.
The standers-by were struck with fresh surprise,
Instead of falling, to behold him rise
A snowy swan, and soaring to the skies.

But dearly the rash prank his mother cost,
Who ignorantly gave her son for lost;
For his misfortune wept, till she became
A lake, and still renown’d with Hyrie’s name.

Thence to Latona’s isle, where once was seen,
Transform’d to birds, a monarch and his queen.
Far off she saw how old Cephisus mourn’d
His son, into a seal by Phoebus turn’d;
And where, astonish’d at a stranger sight,
Eumelus gazed on his wing’d daughter’s flight.

Aetolian Pleuron she did next survey,
Where sons a mother’s murder did essay;
But sudden plumes the matron bore away.
On her right hand, Cyllene, a fair soil,
Fair, till Menephron there the beauteous hill
Attempted with foul incest to defile.

Her harness’d dragons now direct she drives
For Corinth, and at Corinth she arrives,
Where, if what old tradition tells be true,
In former ages men from mushrooms grew.

But here Medea finds her bed supplied,
During her absence, by another bride,
And, hopeless to recover her lost game,
She sets both bride and palace in a flame:
Nor could a rival’s death her wrath assuage,
Nor stopp’d at Creon’s family her rage:
She murders her own infants, in despite
To faithless Jason, and in Jason’s sight;
Yet ere his sword could reach her, up she springs,
Securely mounted on her dragon’s wings.

From hence to Athens she directs her flight,
Where Phineus, so renown’d for doing right,
Where Periphas, and Polyphemon’s niece,
Soaring with sudden plumes, amazed the towns of Greece.

Here Aegeus so engaging she address’d,
That first he treats her like a royal guest,
Then takes the sorc’ress for his wedded wife;
The only blemish of his prudent life.

Meanwhile his son, from actions of renown,
Arrives at court, but to his sire unknown.
Medea, to despatch a dangerous heir,
(She knew him) did a pois’nous draught prepare:
Drawn from a drug, was long reserved in store
For desperate uses, from the Scythian shore;
That from the Echydnaean monster’s jaws
Derived its origin, and this the cause:⁠—

Through a dark cave a craggy passage lies,
To ours ascending from the nether skies,
Through which, by strength of hand, Alcides drew
Chain’d Cerberus, who lagg’d, and restiff grew,
With his blear’d eyes our brighter day to view.
Thrice he repeated his enormous yell,
With which he scares the ghosts and startles hell;
At last outrageous (though compell’d to yield),
He sheds his foam in fury on the field,
Which, with its own, and rankness of the ground,
Produced a weed, by sorcerers renown’d,
The strongest constitution to confound,
Call’d aconite, because it can unlock
All bars, and force its passage through a rock.

The pious father, by her wheedles won,
Presents this deadly potion to his son,
Who with the same assurance takes the cup,
And to the monarch’s health had drunk it up:
But in the very instant he applied
The goblet to his lips, old Aegeus spied
The iv’ry-hilted sword that graced his side.
That certain signal of his son he knew,
And snatch’d the bowl away; the sword he drew;
Resolved, for such a son’s endanger’d life,
To sacrifice the most perfidious wife.
Revenge is swift; but her more active charms
A whirlwind raised, that snatch’d her from his arms;
While conjured clouds their baffled sense surprise,
She vanishes from their deluded eyes,
And through the hurricane triumphant flies.

The gen’rous king, although o’erjoy’d to find
His son was safe, yet, bearing still in mind
The mischief by his treach’rous queen design’d,
The horror of the deed, and then how near
The danger drew, lie stands congeal’d with fear.
But soon that fear into devotion turns;
With grateful incense ev’ry altar burns;
Proud victims, and unconscious of their fate,
Stalk to the temple, there to die in state.
In Athens never had a day been found,
For mirth, like that grand festival renown’d.
Promiscuously the peers and people dine,
Promiscuously their thankful voices join
In songs of wit, sublimed by sprightly wine:
To list’ning spheres their joint applause they raise,
And thus resound their matchless Theseus’ praise:

Great Theseus! thee the Marathonian plain
Admires, and wears with pride the noble stain
Of the dire monster’s blood by valiant Theseus slain:
That now Cromyon’s swains in safety sow
And reap their fertile field, to thee they owe:
By thee the infested Epidaurian coast
Was clear’d, and now can a free commerce boast:
The traveller his journey can pursue,
With pleasure the late dreadful valley view,
And cry, “Here Theseus the grand robber slew:
Cephisus’ flood cries to his rescued shore;
The merciless Procrustes is no more:
In peace, Eleusis, Ceres’ rites renew,
Since Theseus’ sword the fierce Cercyon slew;
By him the torturer Sinis was destroy’d,
Of strength (but strength to barb’rous use employ’d)
That tops of tallest pines to earth could bend,
And thus in pieces wretched captives rend:
Inhuman Scyron now has breathed his last,
And now Alcatho’s roads securely pass’d;
By Theseus slain, and thrown into the deep;
But earth nor sea his scatter’d bones would keep,
Which, after floating long, a rock became,
Still infamous with Scyron’s hated name.
When Fame to count thy acts and years proceeds,
Thy years appear but ciphers to thy deeds.
For thee, brave youth, as for our commonwealth,
We pray, and drink, in yours, the public health:
Your praise the senate and plebeians sing;
With your loved name the court and cottage ring:
You make our shepherds and our sailors glad;
And not a house in this vast city’s sad.”

But mortal bliss will never come sincere:
Pleasure may lead, but grief brings up the rear:
While, for his son’s arrival, rev’lling joy
Aegeus and all his subjects does employ;
While they for only costly feasts prepare,
His neighb’ring monarch, Minos, threatens war:
Weak in land forces, nor by sea more strong,
But powerful in a deep-resented wrong;
For a son’s murder, arm’d with pious rage:
Yet prudently, before he would engage,
To raise auxiliaries resolved to sail,
And with the powerful princes to prevail.

First Anaphe, then proud Astypalaea gains,
By presents that, and this by threats, obtains:
Low Mycone; Cymolus, chalky soil;
Tall Cythnos; Scyros; flat Seriphos’ isle;
Paros, with marble cliffs afar display’d;
Impregnable Sithonia, yet betray’d
To a weak foe, by a gold-admiring maid,
Who, changed into a daw of sable hue,
Still hoards up gold, and hides it from the view.

But as these islands cheerfully combine,
Others refuse to embark in his design.
Now leftward, with an easy, sail, he bore,
And prosperous passage, to Oenopia’s shore;
Oenopia once, but now Aegina call’d,
And with his royal mother’s name install’d
By Aeacus, under whose reign did spring
The Myrmidons, and now their reigning king.

Down to the port, amid the rabble, run
The princes of the blood; with Telamon,
Peleus, the next, and Phocus, the third son.
Then Aeacus, although oppress’d with years,
To ask the cause of their approach appears.

That question does the Gnossian’s grief renew,
And sighs from his afflicted bosom drew;
Yet, after a short solemn respite made,
The river of the hundred cities said:

“Assist our arms, raised for a murder’d son;
In this religious war no risk you’ll run
Revenge the dead; for who refuse to give
Rest to their urns, unworthy are to live.”

“What you request,” thus Aeacus replies,
“Not I, but truth and common faith denies:
Athens and we have long been sworn allies:
Our leagues are fix’d, confed’rate are our powers,
And who declare themselves their foes, are ours.”

Minos rejoins: “Your league shall dearly cost;”
Yet (mindful how much safer ’twas to boast,
Than there to waste his forces and his fame,
Before in field with his grand foe he came)
Parts without blows; nor long had left the shore,
Ere into port another navy bore,
With Cephalus, and all his jolly crew:
The Aeacides their old acquaintance knew.
The princes bid him welcome, and in state
Conduct the hero to their palace gate,
Who, ent’ring, seem’d the charming mien to wear
As when in youth he paid his visit there.
In his right hand an olive-branch he holds,
And, salutation pass’d, the chief unfolds
His embassy from the Athenian state,
Their mutual friendship, leagues of ancient date,
Their common danger; ev’ry thing could wake
Concern, and his address successful make;
Strength’ning his plea with all the charms of sense,
And those, with all the charms of eloquence.

Then thus the king: “Like suiters do you stand
For that assistance which you may command?
Athenians, all our listed forces use
(They’re such as no bold service will refuse);
And when ye’ve drawn them off, the gods be praised,
Fresh legions can within our isle be raised;
So stock’d with people, that we can prepare
Both for domestic and for distant war,
Ours or our friends’ insulters to chastise.”

“Long may he flourish thus,” the prince replies.
“Strange transport seized me as I pass’d along,
To meet so many troops and all so young,
As if your army did of twins consist;
Yet among them my late acquaintance miss’d;
Ev’n all that to your palace did resort,
When first you entertain’d me at your court;
And cannot guess the cause from whence could spring
So vast a change.” Then thus the sighing king:

“Illustrious guest, to my strange tale attend,
Of sad beginning, but a joyful end:
The whole to a vast history would swell;
I shall but half, and that confusedly, tell.
That race whom so deservedly you admired
Are all into their silent tombs retired:
They fell, and falling, how they shook my state,
Thought may conceive, but words can ne’er relate.”

“A dreadful plague from angry Juno came,
To scourge the land that bore her rival’s name.
Before her fatal anger was reveal’d,
And teeming malice lay as yet conceal’d,
All remedies we try, all med’cines use,
Which nature could supply, or art produce;
The unconquer’d foe derides the vain design,
And art and nature foil’d, declare the cause divine.

“At first we only felt the oppressive weight
Of gloomy clouds, then teeming with our fate,
And lab’ring to discharge unactive heat:
But ere four moons alternate changes knew,
With deadly blasts the fatal south wind blew,
Infected all the air, and poison’d as it flew
Our fountains too a dire infection yield,
For crowds of vipers creep along the field,
And, with polluted gore, and baneful steams,
Taint all the lakes, and venom all the streams.

“The young disease with milder force began,
And raged on birds and beasts, excusing man.
The lab’ring oxen fall before the plough;
The unhappy ploughmen stare, and wonder how:
The tabid sheep, with sickly bleatings, pines,
Its wool decreasing as its strength declines:
The warlike steed, by inward foes compell’d,
Neglects his honours, and deserts the field,
Unnerved and languid, seeks a base retreat,
And at the manger groans, but wish’d a nobler fate:
The stags forget their speed, the boars their rage,
Nor can the bears the stronger herds engage;
A general faintness does invade them all,
And in the woods and fields promiscuously they fall
The air receives the stench, and, strange to say,
The rav’nous birds and beasts avoid the prey;
The offensive bodies rot upon the ground,
And spread the dire contagion all around.

“But now the plague, grown to a larger size,
Riots on man, and scorns a meaner prize.
Intestine heats begin the civil war,
And flushings first the latent flame declare,
And breath inspired, which seem’d like fiery air.
Their black dry tongues are swell’d, and scarce can move,
And short thick sighs from panting lungs are drove;
They gape for air, with flattering hopes to abate
Their raging flames, but that augments their heat.
No bed, no covering, can the wretches bear,
But on the ground, exposed to open air,
They lie, and hope to find a pleasing coolness there.
The suffering earth, with that oppression cursed,
Returns the heat which they imparted first.

“In vain physicians would bestow their aid,
Vain all their art, and useless all their trade;
And they, even they, who fleeting life recall,
Feel the same powers, and undistinguish’d fall.
If any proves so daring to attend
His sick companion, or his darling friend,
The officious wretch sucks in contagious breath,
And with his friend does sympathize in death.

“And now the care and hopes of life are pass’d,
They please their fancies and indulge their taste:
At brooks and streams, regardless of their shame,
Each sex, promiscuous, strives to quench their flame;
Nor do they strive in vain to quench it there,
For thirst and life at once extinguish’d are.
Thus in the brooks the dying bodies sink,
But heedless still the rash survivers drink.

“So much uneasy down the wretches hate,
They fly their beds, to struggle with their fate,
But if decaying strength forbids to rise,
The victim crawls and rolls, till on the ground he lies:
Each shuns his bed as each would shun his tomb,
And thinks the infection only lodged at home.

“Here one, with fainting steps, does slowly creep
O’er heaps of dead, and straight augments the heap:
Another, while his strength and tongue prevail’d,
Bewails his friend, and falls himself, bewail’d:
This, with imploring looks, surveys the skies,
The last dear office of his closing eyes,
But finds the heavens implacable, and dies.

“What now, ah, what! empioy’d my troubled mind,
But only hopes my subjects’ fate to find?
What place soe’er my weeping eyes survey,
There in lamented heaps the vulgar lay;
As acorns scatter when the winds prevail,
Or mellow fruit from shaken branches fall.

“You see that dome which rears its front so high.
’Tis sacred to the monarch of the sky:
How many there, with unregarded tears,
And fruitless vows, sent up successless prayers!
There fathers for expiring sons implored,
And there the wife bewail’d her gasping lord:
With pious offerings they appease the skies,
But they, ere yet the atoning vapours rise,
Before the altars fall, themselves a sacrifice;
They fall while yet their hands the gums contain,
Their gums surviving, but their offerer’s slain.

“The destined ox, with holy garlands crown’d,
Prevents the blow, and feels an unexpected wound.
When I myself invoked the powers divine,
To drive the fatal pest from me and mine:
When now the priest with hands uplifted stood,
Prepared to strike, and shed the sacred blood,
The gods themselves the mortal stroke bestow,
The victim falls, but they impart the blow:
Scarce was the knife with the pale purple stain’d,
And no presages could be then obtain’d,
From putrid entrails, where the infection reign’d.

“Death stalk’d around with such resistless sway,
The temples of the gods his force obey,
And suppliants feel his stroke while yet they pray.
‘Go now,’ said he, ‘your deities implore
For fruitless aid, for I defy their power;’
Then with a cursed, malicious joy survey’d
The very altars, stain’d with trophies of the dead.

“The rest grown mad, and frantic with despair,
Urge their own fate, and so prevent the fear.
Strange madness that, when death pursued so fast,
To anticipate the blow with impious haste.

“No decent honours to their urns are paid,
Nor could the graves receive the numerous dead;
For, or they lay unburied on the ground,
Or, unadorn’d, a needy funeral found:
All reverence past, the fainting wretches fight
For funeral piles which were another’s right.
Unmourn’d they fall, for who survived to mourn?
And sires and mothers unlamented burn;
Parents and sons sustain an equal fate,
And wandering ghosts their kindred shadows meet:
The dead a larger space of ground require,
Nor are the trees sufficient for the fire.

“Despairing under grief’s oppressive weight,
And sunk by these tempestuous blasts of fate,
‘O Jove,’ said I, ‘if common fame says true,
If e’er Aegina gave those joys to you,
If e’er you lay enclosed in her embrace,
Fond of her charms, and eager to possess;
O father, if you do not yet disclaim
Paternal care, nor yet disown the name,
Grant my petitions, and with speed restore
My subjects numerous as they were before,
Or make me partner of the fate they bore.’
I spoke, and glorious lightning shone around,
And rattling thunder gave a prosperous sound:
‘So let it be, and may these omens prove
A pledge,’ said I, ‘of your returning love.’

“By chance a reverend oak was near the place,
Sacred to Jove, and of Dodona’s race,
Where frugal ants laid up their winter meat,
Whose little bodies bear a mighty weight:
We saw them march along, and hide their store,
And much admired their number and their power;
Admired at first, but after envied more.
Full of amazement, thus to Jove I pray’d:
‘O grant, since thus my subjects are decay’d,
As many subjects to supply the dead.’
I pray’d, and strange convulsions moved the oak,
Which murmur’d, though by ambient winds unshook:
My trembling hands and stiff-erected hair
Express’d all tokens of uncommon fear;
Yet both the earth and sacred oak I kiss’d,
And scarce could hope, yet still I hoped the best;
For wretches, whatsoe’er the Fates divine,
Expound all omens to their own design.

“But now ’twas night, when even distraction wears
A pleasing look, and dreams beguile our cares:
Lo! the same oak appears before my eyes,
Nor alter’d in his shape nor former size;
As many ants the numerous branches bear,
The same their labour and their frugal care;
The branches too a like commotion found,
And shook the industrious creatures on the ground,
Who by degrees (what’s scarce to be believed)
A nobler form and larger bulk received,
And on the earth walk’d an unusual pace,
With manly strides and an erected face:
Their numerous legs and former colour lost,
The insects could a human figure boast.

“I wake, and, waking, find my cares again,
And to the unperforming gods complain,
And call their promise and pretences vain.
Yet in my court I heard the murm’ring voice
Of strangers, and a mix’d, uncommon noise:
But I suspected all was still a dream,
Till Telamon to my apartment came,
Opening the door with an impetuous haste⁠—
‘O come,’ said he, ‘and see your faith and hopes surpass’d.’
I follow, and, confused with wonder, view
Those shapes which my presaging slumbers drew:
I saw, and own’d, and call’d them subjects; they
Confess’d my power, submissive to my sway.
To Jove, restorer of my race decay’d,
My vows were first with due oblations paid;
I then divide, with an impartial hand,
My empty city, and my ruin’d land,
To give the newborn youth an equal share,
And call them Myrmidons, from what they were.
You saw their persons, and they still retain
The thrift of ants, though now transform’d to men;
A frugal people, and inured to sweat,
Lab’ring to gain, and keeping what they get.
These, equal both in strength and years, shall join
Their willing aid, and follow your design,
With the first southern gale that shall present
To fill your sails, and favour your intent.”

With such discourse they entertain the day;
The evening pass’d in banquets, sport, and play;
Then, having crown’d the night with sweet repose,
Aurora (with the wind at east) arose.
Now Pallas’ sons to Cephalus resort,
And Cephalus with Pallas’ sons to court,
To the king’s levee; him sleep’s silken chain
And pleasing dreams beyond his hour detain;
But then the princes of the blood, in state,
Expect and meet them at the palace gate.

To the inmost courts the Grecian youths were led,
And placed by Phocus on a Tyrian bed,
Who, soon observing Cephalus to hold
A dart of unknown wood, but arm’d with gold⁠—
“None better loves,” said he, “the huntsman’s sport,
Or does more often to the woods resort,
Yet I that javelin’s stem with wonder view,
Too brown for box, too smooth a grain for yew
I cannot guess the tree; but never art
Did form, or eyes behold, so fair a dart!”
The guest then interrupts him:⁠—“ ’Twould produce
Still greater wonder, if you knew its use:
It never fails to strike the game, and then
Comes bloody back into your hand again.”
Then Phocus each particular desires,
And the author of the wondrous gifts inquires;
To which the owner thus, with weeping eyes,
And sorrow for his wife’s sad fate, replies;
“This weapon here, O prince! can you believe
This dart the cause for which so much I grieve,
And shall continue to grieve on, till Fate
Afford such wretched life no longer date?
Would I this fatal gift had ne’er enjoy’d;
This fatal gift my tender wife destroy’d;
Procris her name, allied in charms and blood
To fair Orithyia, courted by a god.
Her father seal’d my hopes with rites divine,
But firmer love before had made her mine.
Men call’d me bless’d, and bless’d I was indeed.
The second month our nuptials did succeed,
When (as upon Hymettus’ dewy head,
For mountain stags, my net betimes I spread)
Aurora spied, and ravish’d me away⁠—
With rev’rence to the goddess, I must say,
Against my will, for Procris had my heart,
Nor would her image from my thoughts depart.
At last, in rage, she cried, ‘Ingrateful boy,
Go to your Procris, take your fatal joy:’
And so dismiss’d me: musing, as I went,
What those expressions of the goddess meant,
A thousand jealous fears possess me now,
Lest Procris had profaned her nuptial vow:
Her youth and charms did to my fancy paint
A lewd adult’ress, but her life a saint:
Yet I was absent long; the goddess too
Taught me how far a woman could be true.
Aurora’s treatment much suspicion bred;
Besides, who truly love ev’n shadows dread.
I straight inpatient for the trial grew,
What courtship back’d with richest gifts could do.
Aurora’s envy aided my design,
And lent me features far unlike to mine.
In this disguise to my own house I came,
But all was chaste, no conscious sign of blame
With thousand arts I scarce admittance found,
And then beheld her weeping on the ground
For her lost husband: hardly I retain’d
My purpose, scarce the wish’d embrace refrain’d.
How charming was her grief! Then, Phocus, guess
What killing beauties waited on her dress.
Her constant answer, when my suit I press’d,
‘Forbear, my lord’s dear image guards this breast;
Where’er he is, whatever cause detains,
Whoe’er has his, my heart unmoved remains.’
What greater proofs of truth than these could be?
Yet I persist, and urge my destiny.
At length she found, when my own form return’d,
Her jealous lover there, whose loss she mourn’d.
Enraged with my suspicion, swift as wind,
She fled at once from me and all mankind;
And so became, her purpose to retain,
A nymph, and huntress in Diana’s train.
Forsaken thus, I found my flames increase
I own’d my folly, and I sued for peace:
It was a fault, but not of guilt, to move
Such punishment⁠—a fault of too much love.
Thus I retrieved her to my longing arms,
And many happy days possess’d her charms:
But with herself she kindly did confer
What gifts the goddess had bestow’d on her:
The fleetest greyhound, with this lovely dart⁠—
And I of both have wonders to impart.
Near Thebes a savage beast, of race unknown,
Laid waste the field, and bore the vineyards down:
The swains fled from him; and, with one consent,
Our Grecian youth to chase the monster went.
More swift than lightning he the toils surpass’d,
And in his course spears, men, and trees, o’ercast.
We slipp’d our dogs, and last my Lelaps too,
When none of all the mortal race would do:
He long before was struggling from my hands,
And, ere we could unloose him, broke his bands:
That minute where he was we could not find,
And only saw the dust he left behind.
I climb’d a neighbouring hill to view the chase,
While in the plain they held an equal race:
The savage now seems caught, and now, by force,
To quit himself, nor holds the same straight course,
But, running counter, from the foe withdraws,
And with short turning cheats his gaping jaws;
Which he retrieves, and still so closely press’d,
You’d fear at every stretch he were possess’d;
Yet for the gripe his fangs in vain prepare⁠—
The game shoots from him, and he chops the air.
To cast my javelin then I took my stand;
But as the thongs were fitting to my hand,
While to the valley I o’erlook’d the wood,
Before my eyes two marble statues stood;
That, as pursued appearing at full stretch,
This, barking after, and at point to catch:
Some god their course did with this wonder grace,
That neither might be conquer’d in the chase.”
A sudden silence here his tongue suppress’d,
He here stops short, and fain would wave the rest.

The eager prince then urged him to impart
The fortune that attended on the dart.
“First then,” said he, “past joys let me relate;
For bliss was the foundation of my fate:
No language can those happy hours express,
Did from our nuptials me and Procris bless:
The kindest pair! What more could Heaven confer?
For she was all to me, and I to her.
Had Jove made love, great Jove had been despised;
And I my Procris more than Venus prized.
Thus while no other joy we did aspire,
We grew at last one soul and one desire.
Forth to the woods I went at break of day
(The constant practice of my youth), for prey;
Nor yet for servant, horse, or dog, did call⁠—
I found this single dart to serve for all.
With slaughter tired, I sought the cooler shade,
And winds that from the mountains pierced the glade.
‘Come, gentle air,’ so was I wont to say,
‘Come, gentle air⁠—sweet Aura, come away.’
This always was the burden of my song⁠—
‘Come ’suage my flames⁠—sweet Aura, come along:
Thou always art most welcome to my breast;
I faint; approach, thou dearest, kindest guest!’
These blandishments, and more than these, I said
(By Fate to unsuspected ruin led).
‘Thou art my joy; for thy dear sake I love
Each desert hill and solitary grove;
When (faint with labour) I refreshment need,
For cordials on thy fragrant breath I feed.’
At last a wandering swain in hearing came,
And, cheated with the sound of Aura’s name,
He thought I had some assignation made,
And to my Procris’ ear the news convey’d.
Great love is soonest with suspicion fired:
She swoon’d, and with the tale almost expired.
‘Ah, wretched heart!’ she cried, ‘ah, faithless man!’
And then to curse the imagined nymph began:
Yet oft she doubts, oft hopes she is deceived,
And chides herself, that ever she believed
Her lord to such injustice could proceed,
Till she herself were witness of the deed.
Next morn I to the woods again repair,
And, weary with the chase, invoke the air.
‘Approach, dear Aura, and my bosom cheer:’
At which a mournful sound did strike my ear:
Yet I proceeded, till the thicket by,
With rustling noise and motion, drew my eye.
I thought some beast of prey was shelter’d there,
And to the covert threw my certain spear;
From whence a tender sigh my soul did wound:
‘Ah me!’ it cried, and did like Procris sound.
Procris was there, too well the voice I knew,
And to the place with headlong horror flew;
Where I beheld her gasping on the ground,
In vain attempting from the deadly wound
To draw the dart, her love’s dear fatal gift!
My guilty arms had scarce the strength to lift
The beauteous load: my silks and hair I tore
(If possible), to stanch the pressing gore;
For pity begg’d her keep her flitting breath,
And not to leave me guilty of her death.
While I entreat she fainted fast away,
And these few words had only strength to say:
‘By all the sacred bonds of plighted love,
By all your reverence to the powers above,
By all that made me charming once appear,
By all the truth for which you held me dear,
And last, by love, the cause through which I bleed,
Let Aura never to my bed succeed.’
I then perceived the error of our fate,
And told it her, but found and told too late!
I felt her lower to my bosom fall;
And while her eyes had any sight at all,
On mine she fix’d them; in her pangs still press’d
My hand, and sigh’d her soul into my breast;
Yet, being undeceived, resign’d her breath
Methought more cheerfully, and smiled in death.”

With such concern the weeping hero told
This tale, that none who heard him could withhold
From melting into sympathizing tears,
Till Aeacus with his two sons appears,
Whom he commits, with their new-levied bands,
To Fortune’s, and so brave a general’s, hands.