"I only in my proper shape appear, "Speechlefs with wonder, and half dead with fear, "Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more. "With him I landed on the Chian shore, "And him shall ever gratefully adore." "This forging flave," fays Pentheus, "would prevail "O'er our just fury by a far-fetch'd tale; "Go, let him feel the whips, the fwords, the fire, "And in the tortures of the rack expire." Th' officious fervants hurry him away, And the poor captive in a dungeon lay. But, whilft the whips and tortures are prepar'd, THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS. BUT Pentheus, grown more furious than before, Refolv'd to fend his meffengers no more, But went himself to the distracted throng, Where high Citharon echo'd with their song. And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground, And fnorts and trembles at the trumpet's found Transported thus he heard the frantic rout, And rav'd and madden'd at the distant shout. A fpacious circuit on the hill there stood, Level and wide, and skirted round with wood; Here the rafh Pentheus, with unhallow'd eyes, The howling dames and mystic orgies spies. His mother sternly view'd him where he stood, And kindled into madness as fhe view'd: Her leafy javelin at her fon fhe caft; And cries, "The boar that lays our country wafte! "The boar, my fifters! aim the fatal dart, . And ftrike the brindled monster to the heart." Pentheus aftonish'd heard the dismal found, And fees the yelling matrons gathering round; He fees, and weeps at his approaching fate, And begs for mercy, and repents too late. 66 Help, help! my aunt Autonöe," he cry'd; "Remember how your own Acteon dy'd." Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops One ftretch'd-out arm, the other Ino lops. In vain does Pentheus to his mother fue, And the raw bleeding ftumps presents to view: His mother howl'd; and, heedless of his prayer, Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair, "And this,” she cried, " shall be Agave's share.' When from the neck his ftruggling head fhe tore, And in her hands the ghaftly visage bore, With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey; Then pull'd and tore the mangled limbs away, As ftarting in the pangs of death it lay. Soon as the wood its leafy honours cafts, Blown off and scatter'd by autumnal blasts, With fuch a fudden death lay Pentheus flain, And in a thousand pieces ftrow'd the plain. By fo diftinguishing a judgment aw'd, The Thebans tremble, and confefs the god. THE STORY OF SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITUS. FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. How Salmacis, with weak enfeebling streams, The fruitful banks with chearful verdure crown'd, } } } A nymph prefides, nor practis'd in the chace, Her fifters often, as 'tis said, wou'd cry, Fy, Salmacis, what always idle! fy; "Or take thy quiver, or thy arrows feize, Fain would she meet the youth with hafty feet, "Bright youth," fhe cries," whom all thy features prove "Bleft are thy parents, and thy fisters bleft; "But oh how bleft! how more than blest thy bride, "Ally'd in blifs, if any yet ally'd. "If so, let mine the ftol'n enjoyments be; "If not, behold a willing bride in me." The boy knew nought of love, and touch'd with fhame, The funny fide of fruit fuch blushes shows, The nymph ftill begs, if not a nobler bliss, } |