The Theban bends on earth his gloomy eyes, Confus'd, and fadly thus at length replies: Before these altars how fhall I proclaim (Oh gen'rous prince) my nation or my name, Or thro' what veins our ancient blood has roll'd?800 Let the fad tale for ever reft untold!
Yet if, propitious to a wretch unknown,
You feek to share in forrows not your own;
Know then from Cadmus I derive my race,
Jocafta's fon, and Thebes my native place.
To whom the King (who felt his gen❜rous breast
Touch'd with concern for his unhappy gueft)
Replies -Ah why forbears the fon to name
His wretched father known too well by fame?
Fame, that delights around the world to ftray, 810
Scorns not to take our Argos in her way.
E'en those who dwell where funs at diftance roll,
In northern wilds, and freeze beneath the pole :
And those who tread the burning Libyan lands,
The faithless Syrtes and the moving fands;
Who view the western fea's extremeft bounds,
Or drink of Ganges in their eastern grounds;
All these the woes of Oedipus have known,
Your fates, your furies, and your haunted town.
If on the fons the parents crimes descend,
What Prince from those his lineage can defend?
Tu modo diffimilis rebus mereare fecundis
Excufare tuos. fed jam temone fupino
Languet Hyperboreae glacialis portitor urfae :
Fundite vina focis, fervatoremque parentum
Latoïden votis iterumque iterumque canamus.
Phoebe parens, feu te Lyciae Pataraea nivofis
Exercent dumeta jugis, feu rore pudico
Caftaliae flavos amor eft tibi mergere crines:
Seu Trojam Thymbraeus habes, ubi fama volentem
Ingratis Phrygios humeris fubiiffe molares:
Seu juvat Aegaeum feriens Latonius umbra
Cynthus, et affiduam pelago non quaerere Delon:
Tela tibi, longeque feros lentandus in hoftes
Arcus, et aetherii dono ceffere parentes
Aeternum florere genas. tu doctus iniquas
Parcarum praenôffe minas, fatumque quod ultra eft,
Et fummo placitura Jovi. quis letifer annus,
Bella quibus populis, mutent quae fceptra cometae.
Tu Phryga fubmittis citharae. tu matris honori
Terrigenam Tityon Stygiis extendis arenis.
Te viridis Python, Thebanaque mater ovantem,
Be this thy comfort, that 'tis thine t'efface
With virtuous acts thy ancestor's disgrace,
And be thyself the honour of thy race.
But fee! the ftars begin to fteal away,
And shine more faintly at approaching day;
Now pour the wine; and in your tuneful lays
Once more refound the great Apollo's praife.
Oh father Phoebus! whether Lycia's coast
And fnowy mountains, thy bright presence boast ;
Whether to sweet Caftalia thou repair,
And bathe in filver dews thy yellow hair;
Or pleas'd to find fair Delos float no more,
Delight in Cynthus, and the shady shore ;
Or chufe thy feat in Ilion's proud abodes,
The fhining ftructures rais'd by lab'ring Gods,
By thee the bow and mortal fhafts are born;
Eternal charms thy blooming youth adorn :
Skill'd in the laws of fecret fate above,
And the dark counfels of almighty Jove,
'Tis thine the feeds of future war to know,
The change of Sceptres, and impending woe;
When direful meteors spread thro' glowing air
Long trails of light, and shake their blazing hair.
Thy rage the Phrygian felt, who durft aspire
T'excel the mufic of thy heav'nly lyre;
Thy fhafts aveng'd lewd Tityus' guilty flame,
Th' immortal victim of thy mother's fame;
Horruit in pharetris. ultrix tibi torva Megaera
Jejunum Phlegyam fubter cava faxa jacentem
Aeterno premit accubitu, dapibufque profanis
Inftimulat: fed mifta famem faftidia vincunt.
Adfis o memor hofpitii, Junoniaque arva
Dexter ames. feu te rofeum Titana vocari
Gentis Achaemeniae ritu, feu praeftat Ofirin
Frugiferum, feu Perfei fub rupibus antri
Indignata fequi torquentem cornua Mitram.
Thy hand flew Python, and the dame who loft
Her num'rous off-spring for a fatal boast.
In Phlegyas' doom thy juft revenge appears,
Condemn'd to furies and eternal fears;
He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye,
The mouldring rock that trembles from on high.
Propitious hear our pray'r, O Pow'r divine !
And on thy hofpitable Argos fhine
Whether the style of Titan please thee more,
Whofe, purple rays th'Achæmenes adore;
Or
great Ofiris, who first taught the swain
In Pharian fields to fow the golden grain ;
Or Mitra, to whofe beams the Perfian bows,
And pays, in hollow rocks, his awful vows;
Mitra, whofe head the blaze of light adorns,
Who grafps the struggling heifer's lunar horns.
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