Then to preserve the fame of such a deed,
For Python flain, he Pythian games decreed,
Where noble youths for mastership should strive,
To quoit, to run, and steeds and chariots drive.
The prize was fame, in witness of renown,
An oaken garland did the victor crown.
The laurel was not yet for triumphs born;
But ev'ry green alike by Phœbus worn
Did, with promifcuous grace, his flowing locks adorn.
The TRANSFORMATION of DAPHNE into a LAUREL
The firft and faireft of his loves was the
Whom not blind fortune but the dire decree
Of angry Cupid forc'd him to defire:
Daphne her name, and Peneus was her fire.
Swell'd with the pride that new fuccefs attends,
He fees the ftripling, while his bow he bends,
And thus infults him: thou lafcivious boy,
Are arms like thefe for children to employ ?
Know, fuch atchievements are my proper claim;
Due to my vigour and unerring aim:
Refiftlefs are my fhafts, and Python late,
In fuch a feather'd death, has found his fate.
Take up thy torch, and lay my weapons by;
With that the feeble fouls of lovers fry.
To whom the son of Venus thus reply'd:
Phoebus thy fhafts are fure on all befide;
But mine on Phoebus: mine the fame fhall be
Of all thy conquefts, when I conquer thee.
He faid, and foaring swiftly wing'd his flight;
Nor stop'd but on Parnaffus' airy height.
Two diff'rent shafts he from his quiver draws;
One to repel defire, and one to cause.
One fhaft is pointed with refulgent gold,
To bribe the love, and make the lover bold:
One blunt, and tipt with lead, whose base allay
Provokes difdain, and drives defire away.
The blunted bolt against the nymph he dreft:
But with the sharp transfix'd Apollo's breast.
Th' enamour'd Deity purfues the chace;
The fcornful damfel fhuns his loath'd embrace:
In hunting beafts of prey her youth employs;
And Phoebe rivals in her rural joys.
With naked neck fhe goes, and shoulders bare,
And with a fillet binds her flowing hair.
By many fuitors fought, fhe mocks their pains,
And still her vow'd virginity maintains.
Impatient of a yoke, the name of bride
She fhuns, and hates the joys fhe never try'd.
On wilds and wood fhe fixes her defire:
Nor knows what youth and kindly love infpire.
Her father chides her oft: Thou ow'ft, says he,
A husband to thyfelf, a fon to me.
She, like a crime, abhors the nuptial bed:
She glows with blushes, and the hangs her head.
Then, cafting round his neck her tender arms,
Soothes him with blandifhments, and filial charms:
Give me, my lord, fhe faid, to live, and die,
A fpotlefs maid, without the marriage tie.
"Tis but a small requeft; I beg no more
Than what Diana's father gave before.
The good old fire was foften'd to confent;
But faid her wish would prove her punishment:
For fo much youth, and fo much beauty join'd,
Oppos'd the ftate, which her defires defign'd.
The God of light afpiring to her bed,
Hopes what he feeks, with flatt'ring fancies fed;
And is by his own oracles mifled.
And as in empty fields the ftubble burns,
Or nightly travellers, when day returns,
Their ufelefs torches on dry hedges throw,
That catch the flames, and kindle all the row;
So burns the God, confuming in defire,
And feeding in his breaft the fruitless fire:
Her well-turn'd neck he view'd (her neck was bare)
And on her shoulders her dishevel'd hair :
Oh were it comb'd, faid he, with what a grace
Wou'd ev'ry waving curl become her face!
He view'd her eyes, like heav'nly lamps that fhone;
He view'd her lips, too fweet to view alone,
Her taper fingers, and her panting breast;
He praises all he fees, and for the reft
Believes the beauties yet unseen are best.
Swift as the wind, the damfel fled away,
Nor did for these alluring speeches stay :
Stay, nymph, he cry'd, I follow, not a foe:
Thus from the Lion trips the trembling Doe;
Thus from the Wolf the frighten'd Lamb removes,
And from pursuing Falcons fearful Doves;
Thou fhunn'ft a God, and fhunn'ft a God, that loves.
Ah left fome thorn should pierce thy tender foot,
Or thou should'ft fall in flying my pursuit!
To fharp uneven ways thy fteps decline;
Abate thy speed, and I will bate of mine.
Yet think from whom thou doft fo rafhly fly;
Nor bafely born, nor fhepherd's fwain am I,
Perhaps thou know'ft not my fuperior ftate;
And from that ignorance proceeds thy hate.
Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos obey;
These hands the Patareian fcepter fway.
The king of Gods begot me: what shall be,
Or is, or ever was, in fate, I fee.
Mine is th' invention of the charming lyre;
Sweet notes, and heav'nly numbers 1 infpire.
Sure is my bow unerring is my dart;
But ah! more deadly his, who pierc'd my heart.
Med'cine is mine, what herbs and fimples grow
In fields and forefts, all their pow'rs I know;
And am the great phyfician call'd below.
Alas, that fields and forests can afford
No remedies to heal their love-fick lord!
To cure the pains of love, no plant avails;
And his own phyfic the phyfician fails.
She heard not half, fo furioufly the flies,
And on her ear th' imperfect accent dies.
Fear gave her wings; and as fhe fled, the wind
Increasing spread her flowing hair behind;
And left her legs and thighs expos'd to view;
Which made the God more eager to pursue.
The God was young, and was too hotly bent
To lofe his time in empty compliment :
But led by love, and fir'd by fuch a fight,
Impetuously purfu'd his near delight.
As when th' impatient greyhound, flipt from far,
Bounds o'er the glebe, to course the fearful hare,
She in her speed does all her fafety lay;
And he with double speed pursues the prey;
O'er-runs her at the fitting turn, and licks
His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix:
She fcapes, and for the neighb'ring covert ftrives,
And gaining shelter doubts if yet she lives:
If little things with great we may compare,
Such was the God, and fuch the flying fair:
She, urg'd by fear, her feet did fwiftly move,
But he more swiftly who was urg'd by love.
He gathers ground upon her in the chace :
Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace;
And juft is faft'ning on the wifh'd embrace.
The nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright,
Spent with the labour of fo long a flight;
And now despairing caft a mournful look,
Upon the freams of her paternal brook:
Oh help fhe cry'd, in this extremeft need,
If Water-Gods are Deities indeed:
Gape, earth, and this unhappy wretch intomb:
Or change my form whence all my forrows come.
Scarce had she finish'd, when her feet she found
Benumb'd with cold, and faften'd to the ground:
A filmy rind about her body grows,
Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs:
The nymph is all into a laurel gone,
The fmoothness of her skin remains alone.
Yet Phoebus loves her ftill, and, cafting round
Her bole, his arms, fome little warmth he found.
The tree ftill panted in th' unfinish'd part,
Not wholly vegetive, and heav'd her heart.
He fix'd his lips upon the trembling rind;
It fwerv'd afide, and his embrace declin'd.
To whom the God: Because thou canft not be
My miftrefs, I efpoufe thee for my tree:
Be thou the prize of honour and renown;
The deathless poet, and the poem, crown.
Thou shalt the Roman feftivals adorn,
And, after poets, be by victors worn.
Thou shalt returning Cæfar's triumph grace;
When pomps fhall in a long proceffion pass :
Wreath'd on the post before his palace wait;
And be the facred guardian of the gate:
Secure from thunder, and unharm'd by Jove,
Unfading as th' immortal pow'rs above:
And as the locks of Phoebus are unshorn,
So fhall perpetual green thy boughs adorn.
The grateful tree was pleas'd with what he said,
And shook the fhady honours of her head.
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