Soon, in a length of face, our head extends;
Our chin stiff briftles bears, and forward bends.
A breadth of brawn new burnishes our neck
Anon we grunt, as we begin to fpeak.
Alone Eurylochus refus'd to taste,
Nor to a beaft obfcene the man debas'd.
Hither Ulyffes haftes (fo Fates command)
And bears the powerful Moly in his hand;
Unfheaths his fcymitar, affaults the dame,
Preferves his fpecies, and remains the fame.
The nuptial right this outrage straight attends;
The dower defir'd is his transfigur'd friends.
The incantation backwards fhe repeats,
Inverts her rod, and what she did defeats,
And now our skin grows fmooth, our shape upright; Our arms ftretch up, our cloven feet unite. With tears our weeping general we embrace; Hang on his neck, and melt upon his face Twelve filver moons in Circe's court we stay, Whilft there they wafte th' unwilling hours away. 'Twas here I spy'd a youth in Parian stone; His head a pecker bore; the caufe unknown To paffengers. A Nymph of Circe's train The mystery thus attempted to explain.
PICUS AND CANENS.
Picus who once th' Aufonian, fceptre held,
Could rein the fteed, and fit him for the field:
So like he was to what you fee, that still
We doubt if real, or the fculptor's skill.
The Graces in the finifh'd piece, you find,
Are but the copy of his fairer mind.
Four luftres fcarce the royal youth could name,
Till every love-fick nymph confess'd a flame.
Oft' for his love the mountain Dryads fued,
And every filver fifter of the flood:
Thofe of Numicus, Albula, and thofe
Where Almo creeps, and hafty Nar o'erflows:
Where fedgy Anio glides through fmiling meads,
Where fhady Farfar ruftles in the reeds:
And those that love the lakes, and homage owe
To the chafte Goddess of the filver bow.
In vain each nymph her brightest charms put on,
His heart no fovereign would obey but one:
She whom Venilia, on Mount Palatine,
To Janus bore the fairest of her line.
Nor did her face alone her charms confefs,
Her voice was ravishing, and pleas'd no lefs.
Whene'er fhe fung, fo melting were her ftrains,
The flocks unfed feem'd liftening on the plains;
The rivers would stand still, the cedars bend;
And birds neglect their pinions to attend;
The favage kind in forest-wilds grow tame;
And Canens, from her heavenly voice, her name,
Hymen had now in fome ill-fated hour
Their hands united, as their hearts before.
Whilft their foft moments in delights they wafte,
And each new day was dearer than the past;
Picus would fometimes o'er the forefts rove,
And mingle fports with intervals of love.
It chanc'd, as once the foaming boar he chac'd,
His jewels fparkling on his Tyrian vest,
Lafcivious Circe well the youth furvey'd,
As fimpling on the flowery hills fhe stray'd.
Her wishing eyes their filent meffage tell,
And from her lap the verdant mifchief fell.
As fhe attempts at words, his courfer springs
O'er hills, and lawns, and ev'n a with outwings.
Thou shalt not 'fcape me fo, pronounc'd the dame,
If plants have power, and fpells be not a name.
She faid-and forthwith form'd a boar of air,
That fought the covert with diffembled fear.
Swift to the thicket Picus wings his way
On foot, to chace the vifionary prey.
Now the invokes the daughters of the night,
Does noxious juices fmear, and charms recite
Such as can veil the moon's more feeble fire,
Or fhade the golden luftre of her fire.
In filthy fogs the hides the chearful noon;
The guard at diftance, and the youth alone:
By thofe fair eves, fhe cries, and every grace
That finish all the wonders of your face,
Oh! I conjure thee, hear a queen complain;
Nor let the fun's foft lineage fue in vain.
Whoe'er thou art, reply'd the king, forbear,
None can my paffion with my Canens fhare.
She first my every tender with poffeft,
And found the foft approaches to my breast.
In nuptials bleft, each loose defire we shun,
Nor time can end what innocence begun.
Think not, fhe cry'd, to faunter out a life
Of form, with that domeftic drudge a wife;
My just revenge, dull fool, ere long, shall show
What ills we women, if refus'd, can do:
Think me a woman, and a lover too.
From dear fuccessful spite we hope for ease,
Nor fail to punish, where we fail to please.
Now twice to east the turns, as oft' to weft;
Thrice waves her wand, as oft' a charm exprest.
On the loft youth her magic power she tries;
Aloft he fprings, and wonders how he flies.
On painted plumes the woods he seeks, and still
The monarch oak he pierces with his bill.
Thus chang'd, no more o'er Latian lands he reigns;
Of Picus nothing but the name remains.
The winds from drizling damps now purge the air, The mists fubfide, the fettling skies are fair : The court their fovereign feek with arms in hand, They threaten Circe, and their Lord demand.
Quick the invokes the spirits of the air,
And twilight elves, that on dun wings repair
To charnels, and th' unhallow'd fepulchre.
Now, ftrange to tell, the plants fweat drops of blood, The trees are tofs'd from forests where they stood; Blue ferpents o'er the tainted herbage slide,
Pale glaring spectres on the æther ride ;
Dogs howl, earth yawns; rent rocks forfake their beds,
And from their quarries heave their stubborn heads.
The fad fpectators, ftiffen'd with their fears,
She fees, and fudden every limb she smears;
Then each of savage beafts the figure bears.
The fun did now to western waves retire,
In tides to temper his bright world of fire.
Canens laments her royal husband's stay;
Ill fuits fond love with abfence, or delay:
Where the commands, her ready people run;
She wills, retracts; bids, and forbids anon.
Reftlefs in mind, and dying with defpair,
Her breasts she beats, and tears her flowing hair.
Six days and nights fhe wanders on, as chance
Directs, without or fleep, or fuftenance.
Tiber at last beholds the weeping fair;
Her feeble limbs no more the mourner bear;
Stretch'd on his banks, the to the flood complains,
And faintly tunes her voice to dying strains.
The fickening fwan thus hangs her filver wings,
And, as the droops, her elegy the fings:
Ere-long fad Canens wastes to air; whilst Fame
The place ftill honours with her hapless name.
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