Who, like a gentle scion newly started out, When they young Chromius' chariot drew, With Jove my song; this happy man, Nor ought he therefore like it less, The men whom Gods do love? "T is them alone the Muse too does approve. But cast a weaker light, Through earth, and air, and seas, and up to th' heavenly vault. "To thee, O Proserpine! this isle I give," Said Jove, and, as he said, Smil'd, and bent his gracious head. "And thou, O isle!" said he, " for ever thrive, "And keep the value of our gift alive! "As Heaven with stars, so let "The country thick with towns be set, "And numberless as stars! "Let all the towns be then "Wise in peace, and bold in wars! "Of thousand glorious towns the nation, "Of thousand glorious men each town a constella"tion! "Nor let their warlike laurel scorn "With the Olympick olive to be worn, "Whose gentler honours do so well the brows of 66 peace adorn!" Go to great Syracuse, my Muse, and wait 'T will open wide to let thee in, When thy lyre's voice shall but begin; And feast more upon thee, than thou on it. For, as by nature thou dost write, So he by nature loves, and does by nature fight. Nature herself, whilst in the womb he was, Sow'd strength and beauty through the forming mass; They mov'd the vital lump in every part, And carv'd the members out with wondrous art. For the great dower which Fortune made to it "T is wiser much to hoard-up friends. Though happy men the present goods possess, Th' unhappy have their share in future hopes no less. How early has young Chromius begun Whilst other youths yet at the barriers stay! The slow advance of dull humanity. The big-limb'd babe in his huge cradle lay, When, lo! by jealous Juno's fierce commands, Rolling and hissing loud, into the room; To the bold babe they trace their bidden way; Forth from their flaming eyes dread lightnings went, Their gaping mouths did forked tongues, like thunder-bolts, present. Some of th' amazed women dropp'd down dead About the room, some into corners crept, All naked from her bed the passionate mother leap'd, She trembled, and she cry'd; the mighty infant smil'd: The mighty infant seem'd well pleas'd At his gay gilded foes; And, as their spotted necks up to the cradle rose, And angry circles cast about; Black blood, and fiery breath, and poisonous soul, he squeezes out! With their drawn swords In ran Amphitryo and the Theban lords; Laugh, and point downwards to his prey, Where, in death's pangs and their own gore, they folding lay. When wise Tiresias this beginning knew, What mighty tyrants he should slay, How much at Phlægra's field the distrest Gods should owe To their great offspring here below; And how his club should there outdo Apollo's silver bow, and his own father's thunder too. And that the grateful Gods, at last, The race of his laborious virtue past, Heaven, which he sav'd, should to him give; Where, marry'd to eternal youth, he should for ever live; Drink nectar with the Gods, and all his senses please In their harmonious, golden palaces; Walk with ineffable delight Through the thick groves of never-withering light, And, as he walks, affright The lion and the bear, Bull, centaur, scorpion, all the radiant monsters there. |