While all his sad companions upward gaze, While with rich gums the fuming altar blaze, Then thus the king: Perhaps, my noble guests! 'When by a thousand darts the Python slain With orbs unroll'd lay covering all the plain, (Transfix'd as o'er Castalia's streams he hung, And suck'd new poisons with his triple tongue) To Argos' realms the victor god resorts, And enters old Crotopos' humble courts. This rural prince one only daughter bless'd, That all the charms of blooming youth possess'd; Fair was her face, and spotless was her mind, Where filial love with virgin sweetness join'd: Happy! and happy still she might have prov'd, Were she less beautiful, or less belov'd! But Phœbus lov'd, and on the flowery side Of Nemea's stream the yielding fair enjoy'd. Now ere ten moons their orb with light adorn, 'How mean a fate, unhappy child, is thine! Ah! how unworthy those of race divine! On flowery herbs in some green covert laid, His bed the ground, his canopy the shade, He mixes with the bleating lambs his cries, While the rude swain his rural music tries, To call soft slumbers on his infant eyes. Yet ev❜n in those obscure abodes to live Was more, alas! than cruel fate would give; For on the grassy verdure as he lay, And breath'd the freshness of the early day, Devouring dogs the helpless infant tore, Fed on his trembling limbs, and lapp'd the gore. The' astonish'd mother, when the rumour came, Forgets her father, and neglects her fame; With loud complaints she fills the yielding air, And beats her breast, and rends her flowing hair; Then wild with anguish to her sire she flies, Demands the sentence, and contented dies. 'But touch'd with sorrow for the deed too late, The raging god prepares to' avenge her fate. He sends a monster, horrible and fell, Begot by furies in the depths of hell. The pest a virgin's face and bosom bears; High on her crown a rising snake appears, Guards her black front, and hissses in her hairs: About the realm she walks her dreadful round, When night with sable wings o'erspreads the ground. Devours young babes before their parents' eyes, And feeds and thrives on public miseries. } 'But generous rage the bold Chorobus warms, The birds obscene, that nightly flock'd to taste, The towers, the fields, and the devoted ground: } 'But Phœbus, ask'd why noxious fires appear, And raging Sirius blasts the sickly year? Demands their lives by whom his monster fell, And dooms a dreadful sacrifice to hell. 'Bless'd be thy dust, and let eternal fame Attend thy manes, and preserve thy name, Undaunted hero! who, divinely brave, In such a cause disdain'd thy life to save, But view'd the shrine with a superior look, And its upbraided godhead thus bespoke : "With piety, the soul's securest guard, And conscious virtue, still its own reward, Willing I come, unknowing how to fear, Nor shalt thou, Phœbus, find a suppliant here: Thy monster's death to me was ow'd alone, And 'tis a deed too glorious to disown. Behold him here, for whom, so many days, Impervious clouds conceal'd thy sullen rays; For whom, as man no longer claim'd thy care, Such numbers fell by pestilential air! But if the' abandon'd race of human kind From gods above no more compassion find; If such inclemency in heaven can dwell, Yet why must unoffending Argos feel The vengeance due to this unlucky steel? On me, on me, let all thy fury fall, Nor err from me, since I deserve it all, Unless our desert cities please thy sight, Or funeral flames reflect a grateful light. Discharge thy shafts, this ready bosom rend, And to the shades a ghost triumphant send; But for my country let my fate atone; Be mine the vengeance, as the crime my own.' Merit distress'd impartial Heaven relieves Unwelcome life relenting Phoebus gives; For not the vengeful power, that glow'd with rage, With such amazing virtue durst engage. The clouds dispers'd, Apollo's wrath expir'd, Thence we these altars in his temple raise, 'But say, illustrious guest! (adjoin'd the king) What name you bear, from what high race you spring? The noble Tydeus stands confess'd, and known The Theban bends on earth his gloomy eyes, - 'Before these altars how shall I proclaim (O generous prince !) my nation or my name, Or through what veins our ancient blood has roll'd? Let the sad tale for ever rest untold! Yet if, propitious to a wretch unknown, |