Liv'd in the shady covert of the woods,
In solitary caves and dark abodes;
Where pining wander'd the rejected fair,
Till harass'd out, and worn away with care,
The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is found
In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.

THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.

Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy,
He still was lovely, but he still was coy;
When one fair virgin of the slighted train

Thus pray'd the gods, provok'd by his disdain,

"Oh may he love like me, and love like me in vain!"
Rhamnusia pity'd the neglected fair,

And with just vengeance answer'd to her prayer.

There stands a fountain in a darksome wood,
Nor stain'd with falling leaves nor rising mud;
Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
Unsully'd by the touch of men or beasts;
High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
And rising grass and cheerful greens below.
Pleas'd with the form and coolness of the place,"
And over-heated by the morning chase,

Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies:

But whilst within the crystal fount he tries

To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.

specified; and so they are in the original. The truth is, fourteen lines are here omitted, not without good reason; but the inartificial connection betrays the omission.

Pleased with the form and coolness of the place. Easier, and better than the original,- faciemque loci, fontemque secutus.” Yet, without losing the Ovidian turn of expression.

For as his own bright image he survey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he descries,
The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the wat'ry glass.
By his own flames consum'd the lover lies,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,

Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he slips.

Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue

With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
What kindle in thee this unpity'd love?

Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour'd shadow comes and goes,

Its empty being on thyself relies;

Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.

Still o'er the fountain's wat'ry gleam he stood, Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food; Still view'd his face, and languish'd as he view'd. At length he rais'd his head, and thus began To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain. "You trees," says he, "and thou surrounding grove, Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love, Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie A youth so tortur'd, so perplex'd as I?

I who before me see the charming fair,

Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there.

In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost;
And yet no bulwark'd town nor distant coast,
Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between.
A shallow water hinders my embrace;
And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint,
Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
My charms an easy conquest have obtain'd
O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdain'd.
But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns
With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
Whene'er I stoop he offers at a kiss,

And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.
His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps,
He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.
Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear
To utter something, which I cannot hear.
"Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
To find out all the long-perplex'd deceit ;
It is myself I love, myself I see;
The gay delusion is a part of me.

I kindle up the fires by which I burn,

And my own beauties from the well return.

Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?

Enjoyment but produces my restraint,

And too much plenty makes me die for want.

How gladly would I from myself remove!

And at a distance set the thing I love.

My breast is warm'd with such unusual fire,
I wish him absent whom I most desire.

And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;
In all the pride of blooming youth I die.
Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
O might the visionary youth survive,

I should with joy my latest breath resign!
But oh! I see his fate involv'd in mine."

This said, the weeping youth again return'd
To the clear fountain, where again he burn'd;
His tears defac'd the surface of the well
With circle after circle, as they fell:
And now the lovely face but half appears,
O'errun with wrinkles, and deform'd with tears.
"Ah whither," cries Narcissus, "dost thou fly?
Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
Let me still see, tho' I'm no further blest."
Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast
His naked bosom redden'd with the blow,
In such a blush as purple clusters show,
Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine
Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
And with a new redoubled passion dies.
As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
And trickle into drops before the sun;
So melts the youth, and languishes away,
His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
And none of those attractive charms remain,
To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.

She saw him in his present misery,

Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she griev'd to sec.
She answer'd sadly to the lover's moan,

Sigh'd back his sighs, and groan'd to every groan:
"Ah youth! belov'd in vain," Narcissus cries;
"Ah youth belov'd in vain," the nymph replies.
"Farewel," says he; the parting sound scarce fell
From his faint lips, but she replied, "Farewel."
Then on th' unwholesome earth he gasping lies,
Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
And in the Stygian waves itself admires.

For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;
And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:
When, looking for his corpse, they only found
A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crown'd.

THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.

This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame,
Through Greece establish'd in a prophet's name.
Th' unhallow'd Pentheus only durst deride
The cheated people, and their eyeless guide.
To whom the prophet in his fury said,
Shaking the hoary honours of his head;

""Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee
If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me :
For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here,
When the young god's solemnities appear;
Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn,
Thy impious carcass, into pieces torn,

Shall strew the woods, and hang on every thorn.
VOL. I.-5*