Of studied speech, the shame of wisdom, hide The truth from hapless Io.
Ai! Ai! for thee! Ai! Ai! for thee!
No more! no more! in pity cease!
Never dreamed I of ills like these!
Or that such accents of despair,
So strange, so full of fear,
Should harrow up my soul to hear:
Sad to behold thou art,
And difficult to bear
Thy wanderings, thine injuries, and thy woes;
When shall they close?
At every tone of thine, at every word,
Pity and horror pierce my heart,
As with a two-edged sword,
· Ai! Ai! for thee! Ai! Ai! for thee! .....
You are too full of fears, you wail too soon !
Wait, till you know the rest.
'Tis good for those labouring in maladies To know the pangs they yet may have to prove.
My ready wishes furthered your desire
To learn, as well you might, first from herself Her hapless story; what is yet to come,
The sufferings she must bear from Juno's hate,
Must now be told, and treasure well my words,
Daughter of Inachus! that you, through them
May find a period to your wanderings.
First then, on turning to the rising sun,
Follow the uncultivated tracts, that hold
The Scythian Nomades, distinguished well
By bows and quivered darts, and huts composed
Of twisted osiers, raised on wheels, that bear
The dwellings of those errant tribes: approach
Not them, but, skirt their desarts; and incline
Along the sounding cliffs of the sea-shore,
Till on the left you pass the Chalybes,
Who forge and temper iron, avoid them, for
They are inhuman and inhospitable:
You come now to the Lixus, rightly named
From its shrill chiding torrent, ford it not,
Nor is it safely fordable, until
You reach the foot of Caucasus, that exceeds
In height all mountains, from whose loftiest peaks
That river pours its strength and volume forth;
Those peaks touch Heaven, and yet they must be crost:
Thence southward lies your course, till you shall meet
The warlike Amazons, who hate the race
Of man, (erewhile to dwell in Themicyra,
On the Thermodon's banks, whose many mouths
From Salmydyssus, step-mother to ships,
Dread of the mariner,) like women, they
With willing minds will lead you on your road:
On journeying still, you will ere long behold
An Isthmus, 'twixt whose narrow gates appears
The dark Cimmerian lake; fear not its waves,
But boldly traverse the Maotic strait;
Whence great shall be the fame among mankind
Of this your daring passage, to be called,
From you, the Bosphorus.. .. Europe is behind,
And Asia all before..... And now, ye nymphs!
Ask your inquiring minds, if mighty Jove
Can tyrannize o'er all, as well as me---
Question his justice too, what he, a God,
The king of Gods, immortal as he is,
To gratify his passion, doom a mortal,
A helpless maid, to wanderings such as these;
Virgin! thou hast indeed a cruel bridegroom!
This is but the preamble to your woes-
The worst remains behind, unheard..... untold.
And dost thou too again
Begin to weep and wail? what will you do
When you have heard the whole!
What is there in this being, that I should wish
Tó cling to it, what can I hope to gain
By living on! then let me welcome death!
Cast myself headlong down from this sharp rock,
To the far plain, and dashed below, thus end
At once my woes: better to die at once,
Than suffer all my life the pangs of death.
What are your petty griefs compared to mine?
Behold me! dost thou think, thou couldst endure
The pangs I bear, and live ..... but I, alas !
I cannot die, for death would be a blessing,
Would cure my ills, and therefore must I live,
But they can know no end, till falls the tyrant.
Shall Jove then fall, he lose his power?
Say then! by whom shall fall
The tyrant, who shall rob him of his sceptre ?
Himself, and the blind passions that enslave him.
What passions? how! speak! if your words offend not.
He little dreams of his disastrous marriage!
Divine, or human, name it if thou darest!
How dare? I dare say all. Yet-no.
Shall a wife shake his throne?
A son, who shall be mightier than his father.
And only one! my freedom from these bonds.
And who shall set you free against Jove's will?
A child of thine! one sprung from thee!
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