Had sung-Expect thy sons on Argos shore, 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 the inclement heaven, Till, led by fate, the 'Theban's steps he treads, And to fair Argos' open court succeeds. When thus the chiefs from different lands reson, 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. A boar's stiff hide, of Calydonian breed, Enides' 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 the 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. To heaven he lifts his hands, erect 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, Thus, seized with sacred fear, the monarch pray'd, The king once more the solemn rites requires, And now the king, his royal feast to grace, When from the close apartments of the night, 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, On golden wings, the Phrygian to the stars; Still as he rises in the 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, With Phœbus' 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, Great was the cause; our old solemnities When by a thousand darts the Python slain '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. Yet e'en 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 The 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; Then wild with anguish to her sire she flies, Demands the sentence, and contented dies. 'But, touch'd with sorrow for the dead too late, The raging god prepares to 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 a crown a rising snake appears, Guards her black front, and hisses in her hairs; About the realm she walks her dreadful round, 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 Chorœbus warms, Chorœbus, 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, 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 Chorœbus in the front appears, Deep in her breast he plunged his shining sword, And hell's dire monster back to hell restored. The 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. The crowd in stupid wonder fix'd appear, Pale e'en in joy, nor yet forget to fear. Some with vast beams the squalid corpse 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; |