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Then in his fury black'd the raven o'er,
And bid him prate in his white plumes no more.

OCYRRHOE TRANSFORMED TO A MARE.

Old Chiron took the babe with secret joy,
Proud of the charge of the celestial boy.
His daughter too, whom on the sandy shore
The nymph Chariclo to the Centaur bore,
With hair dishevel'd on her shoulders came
To see the child, Ocyrrhoe was her natne;
She knew her father's arts, and could rehearse
The depths of prophecy in sounding verse.
Once, as the sacred infant she survey'd,
The god was kindled in the raving maid,
And thus she utter'd her prophetic tale;
"Hail, great physician of the world, all hail;
Hail, mighty infant, who, in years to come
Shalt heal the nations and defraud the tomb;
Swift be thy growth! thy triumphs unconfin'd!
Make kingdoms thicker, and increase mankind.
Thy daring art shall animate the dead,
And draw the thunder on thy guilty head:
Then shalt thou die; but, from the dark abode,
Rise up victorious, and be twice a god.
And thou, my sire, not destin'd by thy birth
To turn to dust, and mix with common earth,
How wilt thou toss, and rave, and long to die,
And quit thy claim to immortality;

When thou shalt feel, enrag'd with inward pains,
The Hydra's venom rankling in thy veins?
The gods, in pity, shall contract thy date,
And give thee over to the power of Fate."
Thus, entering into destiny, the maid
The secrets of offended Jove betray'd:
More had she still to say; but now appears

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Oppress'd with sobs and sighs, and drown'd in tears. "My voice," says she, "is gone, my language fails; Through every limb my kindred shape prevails:

Why did the god this fatal gift impart,
And with prophetic raptures swell my heart!
What new desires are these? I long to pace
O'er flow'ry meadows, and to feed on grass;
I hasten to a brute, a maid no more;
But why, alas! am I transform'd all o'er?
My sire does half a human shape retain,
And in his upper parts preserves the man.'
Her tongue no more distinct complaints affords,
But in shrill accents and misshapen words
Pours forth such hideous wailings, as declare
The human form confounded in the mare:
Till by degrees accomplish'd in the beast,
She neigh'd outright, and all the steed express'd.
Her stooping body on her hands is borne,
Her hands are turn'd to hoofs, and shod in horn;
Her yellow tresses ruffle in a mane,

And in a flowing tail she frisks her train.
The mare was finish'd in her voice and look,
And a new name from the new figure took.

THE TRANSFORMATION OF BATTUS TO A TOUCHSTONE.

Sore wept the Centaur, and to Phoebus pray'd;
But how could Phoebus give the Centaur aid?
Degraded of his pow'r by angry Jove,

In Elis then a herd of beeves he drove;
And wielded in his hand a staff of oak,

And o'er his shoulders threw the shepherd's cloak;
On seven compacted reeds he us'd to play,
And on his rural pipe to waste the day.

As once, attentive to his pipe, he play'd,
The crafty Hermes from the god convey'd
A drove, that sep'rate from their fellows stray'd.
The theft an old insidious peasant view'd,
(They call'd him Battus in the neighbourhood,)
Hir'd by a wealthy Pylian prince to feed

His favourite mares, and watch the generous breed.

The thievish god suspected him, and took
The hind aside, and thus in whispers spoke:
"Discover not the theft, whoe'er thou be,
And take that milk-white heifer for thy fee.'
"Go, stranger," cries the clown, "securely on,
That stone shall sooner tell;" and show'd a stone.

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The god withdrew, but straight return'd again, In speech and habit like a country swain; And cries out, "Neighbour, hast thou seen a stray Of bullocks and of heifers pass this way? In the recovery of my cattle join,

A bullock and a heifer shall be thine."

The peasant quick replies, "You'll find them there
In yon dark vale:" and in the vale they were.
The double bribe had his false heart beguil'd:
The god, successful in the trial, smil'd;
"And dost thou thus betray myself to me?
Me to myself dost thou betray?" says he:
Then to a Touchstone turns the faithless spy,
And in his name records his infamy.

THE STORY OF AGLAUROS, TRANSFORMED INTO À

STATUE.

This done, the god flew up on high, and pass'd O'er lofty Athens, by Minerva grac'd,

And wide Munichia, whilst his eyes survey

All the vast region that beneath him lay.

'Twas now the feast, when each Athenian maid

Her yearly homage to Minerva paid;

In canisters, with garlands cover'd o'er,
High on their heads their mystic gifts they bore:
And now, returning in a solemn train,
The troop of shining virgins fill'd the plain.

The god well-pleas'd beheld the pompous show,
And saw the bright procession pass below;
Then veer'd about, and took a wheeling flight,
And hover'd o'er them; as the spreading kite,
That smells the slaughter'd victim from on high,

Flies at a distance, if the priests are nigh,
And sails around, and keeps it in her eye;
So kept the god the virgin choir in view,
And in slow winding circles round them flew
As Lucifer excels the meanest star,
Or, as the full-orb'd Phoebe, Lucifer;
So much did Herse all the rest outvie,
And gave a grace to the solemnity.

Hermes was fir'd, as in the clouds he hung:
So the cold bullet, that with fury flung
From Balearic engines mounts on high,
Glows in the whirl, and burns along the sky.
At length he pitch'd upon the ground, and show'd
The form divine, the features of a god.
He knew their virtue o'er a female heart,
And yet he strives to better them by art.
He hangs his mantle loose, and sets to show
The golden edging on the seam below;
Adjusts his flowing curls, and in his hand
Waves, with an air, the sleep-procuring wand;
The glittering sandals to his feet applies,
And to each heel the well-trimm'd pinion ties.
His ornaments with nicest art display'd,
He seeks th' apartment of the royal maid.
The roof was all with polish'd iv'ry lin❜d,
That, richly mix'd, in clouds of tortoise shin'd.
Three rooms, contiguous, in a range were plac'd,
The midmost by the beauteous Herse grac'd;
Her virgin sisters lodg'd on either side.
Aglauros first th' approaching god descry'd,
And, as he cross'd her chamber, ask'd his name,
And what his business was, and whence he came.
'I come," reply'd the god, "from heav'n to woo
Your sister, and to make an aunt of you:
I am the son and messenger of Jove,
My name is Mercury, my business love;
Do you, kind damsel, take a lover's part,
And gain admittance to your sister's heart."

She star'd him in the face with looks amaz'd, As when she on Minerva's secret gaz'd, And asks a mighty treasure for her hire, And, till he brings it, makes the god retire. Minerva griev'd to see the nymph succeed: And now rememb'ring the late impious deed, When disobedient to her strict command, She touch'd the chest with an unhallow'd hand; In big-swoln sighs her inward rage express'd, That heav'd the rising Ægis on her breast; Then sought out Envy in her dark abode, Defil'd with ropy gore and clots of blood: Shut from the winds, and from the wholesome skies, In a deep vale the gloomy dungeon lies, Dismal and cold, where not a beam of light Invades the winter, or disturbs the night.

Directly to the cave her course she steer'd; Against the gates her martial lance she rear'd; The gates flew open, and the fiend appear'd. A pois'nous morsel in her teeth she chew'd,, And gorg'd the flesh of vipers for her food.. Minerva loathing, turn'd away her eye; The hideous monster, rising heavily, Came stalking forward with a sullen pace, And left her mangled offals on the place. Soon as she saw the goddess gay and bright, She fetch'd a groan at such a cheerful sight. Livid and meagre were her looks, her eye In foul distorted glances turn'd awry; A hoard of gall her inward parts possess'd, And spread a greenness o'er her canker'd breast; Her teeth were brown with rust; and from her tongue, In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung. She never smiles but when the wretched weep, Nor lulls her malice with a moment's sleep, Restless in spite: while watchful to destroy, She pines and sickens at another's joy; Foe to herself, distressing and distress'd, She bears her own tormentor in her breast.

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