That still they frolic, though they travell’d are
Never so sore, and hurry after them
Most heavy coaches, but are so extreme
(In usual travel) fiery and free,
That though their coachman ne’er so masterly
Governs their courages, he sometimes must
Forsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust,
When after them their empty coach they draw,
Foaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe.
And if their coachman guide through any grove
Unshorn, and vow’d to any Deity’s love,
The lords encoach’d leap out, and all their care
Use to allay their fires, with speaking fair
Stroking and trimming them, and in some queach,
Or strength of shade, within their nearest reach,
Reining them up, invoke the deified King
Of that unshorn and everlasting spring,
And leave them then to her preserving hands,
Who is the Fate that there the God commands.
And this was first the sacred fashion there.
From hence thou went’st, O thou in shafts past peer,
And found’st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams,
Whose flood affects so many silver streams,
And from Lilæus pours so bright a wave.
Yet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gave
The view of Ocale the rich in tow’rs;
Then to Amartus that abounds in flow’rs,
Then to Delphusa putt’st thy progress on,
Whose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon;
And there thy pleasure would a fane adorn,
And nourish woods whose shades should ne’er be shorn.
Where this thou told’st her, standing to her close:
“Delphusa, here I entertain suppose
To build a far-fam’d temple, and ordain
An oracle t’ inform the minds of men,
Who shall for ever offer to my love
Whole hecatombs; even all the men that move
In rich Peloponnesus, and all those
Of Europe, and the isles the seas enclose,
Whom future search of acts and beings brings.
To whom I’ll prophesy the truths of things
In that rich temple where my oracle sings.”
This said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow,
The fane’s divine foundations did foreshow;
Ample they were, and did huge length impart,
With a continuate tenour, full of art.
But when Delphusa look’d into his end,
Her heart grew angry, and did thus extend
Itself to Phœbus: “Phœbus, since thy mind
A far-fam’d fane hath in itself design’d
To bear an oracle to men in me,
That hecatombs may put in fire to thee,
This let me tell thee, and impose for stay
Upon thy purpose: Th’ inarticulate neigh
Of fire-hov’d horse will ever disobey
Thy numerous ear, and mules will for their drink
Trouble my sacred springs, and I should think
That any of the human race had rather
See here the hurries of rich coaches gather,
And hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov’d horse,
Than in his pleasure’s place convert recourse
T’a mighty temple; and his wealth bestow
On pieties, where his sports may freely flow,
Or see huge wealth that he shall never owe.
And, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice, —
Though mightier far thou art, and much more wise,
O king, than I, thy pow’r being great’st of all
In Crissa, underneath the bosom’s fall
Of steep Parnassus, — let thy mind be given
To set thee up a fane, where never driven
Shall glorious coaches be, nor horses’ neighs
Storm near thy well-built altars, but thy praise
Let the fair race of pious humans bring
Into thy fane, that Io-pæans sing.
And those gifts only let thy deified mind
Be circularly pleas’d with, being the kind
And fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.”
With this his mind she altered, though she spake
Not for his good, but her own glory’s sake.
From hence, O Phœbus, first thou mad’st retreat,
And of the Phlegians reached the walled seat,
Inhabited with contumelious men,
Who, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings then
Within a large cave, near Cephissus’ lake.
Hence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst make
Up to the tops intended, and the ground
Of Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown’d
Parnassus, reach’d, whose face affects the West;
Above which hangs a rock, that still seems prest
To fall upon it, through whose breast doth run
A rocky cave, near which the King the Sun
Cast to contrive a temple to his mind,
And said, “Now here stands my conceit inclin’d
To build a famous fane, where still shall be
An oracle to men, that still to me
Shall offer absolute hecatombs, as well
Those that in rich Peloponnesus dwell
As those of Europe, and the isles that lie
Wall’d with the sea, that all their pains apply
T’ employ my counsels. To all which will I
True secrets tell, by way of prophecy,
In my rich temple, that shall ever be
An oracle to all posterity.”
This said, the fane’s form he did straight present,
Ample, and of a length of great extent;
In which Trophonius and Agamede,
Who of Erginus were the famous seed,
Impos’d the stony entry, and the heart
Of every God had for their excellent art.
About the temple dwelt of human name
Unnumber’d nations, it acquired such fame,
Being all of stone, built for eternal date.
And near it did a fountain propagate
A fair stream far away; when Jove’s bright seed,
The King Apollo, with an arrow, freed
From his strong string, destroy’d the Dragoness
That wonder nourish’d, being of such excess
In size, and horridness of monstrous shape,
That on the forc’d earth she wrought many a rape,
Many a spoil made on it, many an ill
On crook-haunch’d herds brought, being impurpled still
With blood of all sorts; having undergone
The charge of Juno, with the golden throne,
To nourish Typhon, the abhorr’d affright
And bane of mortals, whom into the light
Saturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove,
Because the most renown’d fruit of his love
(Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain.
For which majestic Juno did complain
In this kind to the Bless’d Court of the skies:
“Know all ye sex-distinguish’d Deities,
That Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng,
Begins with me first, and affects with wrong
My right in him, made by h
imself his wife,
That knows and does the honour’d marriage life
All honest offices; and yet hath he
Unduly got, without my company,
Blue-eyed Minerva, who of all the sky
Of blest Immortals is the absolute grace;
Where I have brought into the Heavenly Race
A son, both taken in his feet and head,
So ugly, and so far from worth my bed,
That, ravish’d into hand, I took and threw
Down to the vast sea his detested view;
Where Nereus’ daughter, Thetis, who her way
With silver feet makes, and the fair array
Of her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard.
But, would to heaven, another yet were spared
The like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate,
What other scape canst thou excogitate?
How could thy heart sustain to get alone
The grey-eyed Goddess? Her conception
Nor bringing forth had any hand of mine,
And yet, know all the Gods, I go for thine
To such kind uses. But I’ll now employ
My brain to procreate a masculine joy,
That ‘mongst th’ Immortals may as eminent shine,
With shame affecting nor my bed nor thine.
Nor will I ever touch at thine again,
But far fly it and thee; and yet will reign
Amongst th’ Immortals ever.” This spleen spent
(Still yet left angry) far away she went
From all the Deathless, and yet pray’d to all,
Advanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall,
Used these excitements: “Hear me now, O Earth!
Broad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth,
The deified Titanois, that dwell about
Vast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the rout
Of Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say,
With all your forces, and give instant way
T’ a son of mine without Jove, who yet may
Nothing inferior prove in force to him,
But past him spring as far in able limb
As he past Saturn.” This pronounced, she strook
Life-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shook
Beneath her numb’d hand. Which when she beheld,
Her bosom with abundant comforts swell’d,
In hope all should to her desire extend.
From hence the year, that all such proofs gives end,
Grew round; yet all that time the bed of Jove
She never touch’d at, never was her love
Enflam’d to sit near his Dædalian throne,
As she accustomed, to consult upon
Counsels kept dark with many a secret skill,
But kept her vow-frequented temple still,
Pleas’d with her sacrifice; till now, the nights
And days accomplish’d, and the year’s whole rights
In all her revolutions being expired,
The hours and all run out that were required
To vent a birth-right, she brought forth a son,
Like Gods or men in no condition,
But a most dreadful and pernicious thing,
Call’d Typhon, who on all the human spring
Conferr’d confusion. Which received to hand
By Juno, instantly she gave command
(Ill to ill adding) that the Dragoness
Should bring it up; who took, and did oppress
With many a misery (to maintain th’ excess
Of that inhuman monster) all the race
Of men that were of all the world the grace,
Till the far-working Phœbus at her sent
A fiery arrow, that invoked event
Of death gave to her execrable life.
Before which yet she lay in bitter strife,
With dying pains, grovelling on earth, and drew
Extreme short respirations; for which flew
A shout about the air, whence no man knew,
But came by power divine. And then she lay
Tumbling her trunk, and winding every way
About her nasty nest, quite leaving then
Her murderous life, embrued with deaths of men.
Then Phœbus gloried, saying: “Thyself now lie
On men-sustaining earth, and putrefy,
Who first of putrefaction was inform’d.
Now on thy life have death’s cold vapours storm’d,
That storm’dst on men the earth-fed so much death,
In envy of the offspring they made breathe
Their lives out on my altars. Now from thee
Not Typhon shall enforce the misery
Of merited death, nor She, whose name implies
Such scathe (Chimæra), but black earth make prise
To putrefaction thy immanities,
And bright Hyperion, that light all eyes shows,
Thine with a night of rottenness shall close.”
Thus spake he glorying. And then seiz’d upon
Her horrid heap, with putrefaction,
Hyperion’s lovely pow’rs; from whence her name
Took sound of Python, and heaven’s Sovereign Flame
Was surnam’d Pythius, since the sharp-eyed Sun
Affected so with putrefaction
The hellish monster. And now Phœbus’ mind
Gave him to know that falsehood had strook blind
Even his bright eye, because it could not find
The subtle Fountain’s fraud; to whom he flew,
Enflamed with anger, and in th’ instant drew
Close to Delphusa, using this short vow:
“Delphusa! You must look no longer now
To vent your frauds on me; for well I know
Your situation to be lovely, worth
A temple’s imposition, it pours forth
So delicate a stream. But your renown
Shall now no longer shine here, but mine own.”
This said, he thrust her promontory down,
And damm’d her fountain up with mighty stones,
A temple giving consecrations
In woods adjoining. And in this fane all
On him, by surname of Delphusius, call,
Because Delphusa’s sacred flood and fame
His wrath affected so, and hid in shame.
And then thought Phœbus what descent of men
To be his ministers he should retain,
To do in stony Pythos sacrifice.
To which his mind contending, his quick eyes
He cast upon the blue sea, and beheld
A ship, on whose masts sails that wing’d it swell’d,
In which were men transferr’d, many and good,
That in Minoian Cnossus ate their food,
And were Cretensians; who now are those
That all the sacrificing dues dispose,
And all the laws deliver to a word
Of Day’s great King, that wears the golden sword,
And oracles (out of his Delphian tree
That shrouds her fair arms in the cavity
Beneath Parnassus’ mount) pronounce to men.
These now his priests, that lived as merchants then,
In traffics and pecuniary rates,
For sandy Pylos and the Pylian states.
Were under sail. But now encounter’d them
Phœbus-Apollo, who into the stream
Cast himself headlong, and
the strange disguise
Took of a dolphin of a goodly size.
Like which he leap’d into their ship, and lay
As an ostent of infinite dismay.
For none with any strife of mind could look
Into the omen, all the ship-masts shook,
And silent all sat with the fear they took,
Arm’d not, nor strook they sail, but as before
Went on with full trim, and a foreright blore,
Stiff, and from forth the south, the ship made fly.
When first they stripp’d the Malean promont’ry,
Touch’d at Laconia’s soil, in which a town
Their ship arriv’d at, that the sea doth crown,
Called Tenarus, a place of much delight
To men that serve Heaven’s Comforter of sight.
In which are fed the famous flocks that bear
The wealthy fleeces, on a delicate lair
Being fed and seated. Where the merchants fain
Would have put in, that they might out again
To tell the miracle that chanced to them,
And try if it would take the sacred stream,
Rushing far forth, that he again might bear
Those other fishes that abounded there
Delightsome company, or still would stay
Aboard their dry ship. But it fail’d t’ obey,
And for the rich Peloponnesian shore
Steer’d her free sail; Apollo made the blore
Directly guide it. That obeying still
Reach’d dry Arena, and (what wish doth fill)
Fair Argyphæa, and the populous height
Of Thryus, whose stream, siding her, doth wait
With safe pass on Alphæus, Pylos’ sands,
And Pylian dwellers; keeping by the strands
On which th’ inhabitants of Crunius dwell,
And Helida set opposite to hell;
Chalcis and Dymes reach’d, and happily
Made sail by Pheras; all being overjoy’d
With that frank gale that Jove himself employ’d.
And then amongst the clouds they might descry
The hill, that far-seen Ithaca calls her Eye,
Dulichius, Samos, and, with timber graced,
Shady Zacynthus. But when now they past
Peloponnesus all, and then when show’d
The infinite vale of Crissa, that doth shroud
All rich Morea with her liberal breast,
So frank a gale there flew out of the West
As all the sky discover’d; ’twas so great,
And blew so from the very council seat
Of Jove himself, that quickly it might send
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 167