Thy father sends thee this to cheer thy breast,

And glad thy sight with what thou lov'st the best;

As thou hast pleas'd his eyes and joy'd his mind

With what he lov'd the most of humankind."

Ere this the royal dame, who well had weigh'd

619

The consequence of what her sire had said,
Fix'd on her fate, against th' expected hour,
Procur'd the means to have it in her pow'r.
For this she had distill'd, with early care,
The juice of simples friendly to despair,
A magazine of death, and thus prepar'd,
Secure to die, the fatal message heard:
Then smil'd severe, nor with a troubled
look

Or trembling hand the fun'ral present took; Ev'n kept her count'nance, when the lid remov'd

Disclos'd the heart, unfortunately lov'd. 630
She needed not be told within whose breast
It lodg'd; the message had explain'd the
rest.

Or not amaz'd, or hiding her surprise,
She sternly on the bearer fix'd her eyes;
Then thus: "Tell Tancred, on his daughter's
part,

The gold, tho' precious, equals not the heart:

But he did well to give his best; and I, Who wish'd a worthier urn, forgive his poverty."

At this she curb'd a groan, that else had come,

And pausing, view'd the present in the tomb;

640

Then, to the heart ador'd devoutly glued Her lips, and raising it, her speech renew'd:

700

And thus pursued: "O ever faithful heart,
I have perform'd the ceremonial part,
The decencies of grief; it rests behind,
That, as our bodies were, our souls be join'd;
To thy whate'er abode my shade convey,
And as an elder ghost, direct the way.'
She said; and bade the vial to be brought,
Where she before had brew'd the deadly
draught.

First pouring out the med'cinable bane, The heart her tears had rins'd she bath'd again;

Then down her throat the death securely

throws,

And quaffs a long oblivion of her woes. 710 This done, she mounts the genial bed, and there

(Her body first compos'd with honest care) Attends the welcome rest; her hands yet hold

Close to her heart the monumental gold; Nor farther word she spoke, but clos'd her sight,

And quiet sought the covert of the night. The damsels, who the while in silence mourn'd,

Not to deny thy daughter's last request. The secret love which I so long enjoy'd, And still conceal'd, to gratify thy pride, Thou hast disjoin'd; but, with my dying breath,

Seek not, I beg thee, to disjoin our death: Where'er his corpse by thy command is laid, Thither let mine in public be convey'd; 741 Expos'd in open view, and side by side, Acknowledg'd as a bridegroom and a bride."

The prince's anguish hinder'd his reply; And she, who felt her fate approaching nigh,

Seiz'd the cold heart, and heaving to her breast:

"Here, precious pledge," she said, "securely rest."

These accents were her last; the creeping death

Benumb'd her senses first, then stopp'd her breath.

Thus she for disobedience justly died; 750 The sire was justly punish'd for his pride: The youth, least guilty, suffer'd for th' offense,

Of duty violated to his prince;
Who, late repenting of his cruel deed,
One common sepulcher for both decreed;
Intomb'd the wretched pair in royal state,
And on their monument inscrib'd their

fate.

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON

OUT OF THE EIGHTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

The author, pursuing the deeds of Theseus, relates how he with his friend Perithous were invited by Acheloüs, the river god, to stay with him till his waters were abated. Achelous entertains them with a relation of his own love to Perimele, who was chang'd into an island by Neptune at his request. Perithous, being an atheist, derides the legend, and denies the power of the gods to work that miracle. Lelex, another companion of Theseus, to confirm the story of Acheloüs, relates another metamorphosis of Baucis and Philemon into trees; of which he was partly an eye witness.

THUS Acheloüs ends: his audience hear
With admiration, and, admiring, fear
The pow'rs of heav'n; except Ixion's son,
Who laugh'd at all the gods, believ'd in

She cull'd, and then with handy care she dress'd.

High o'er the hearth a chine of bacon hung:
Good old Philemon seiz'd it with a prong,
And from the sooty rafter drew it down;
Then cut a slice, but scarce enough for one;
Yet a large portion of a little store,
Which for their sakes alone he wish'd were

more.

This in the pot he plung'd without delay, To tame the flesh and drain the salt away. The time between, before the fire they sat, 70 And shorten'd the delay by pleasing chat.

"A beam there was, on which a beechen pail

Hung by the handle, on a driven nail: This fill'd with water, gently warm'd,' they set

Before their guests; in this they bath'd their feet,

And after with clean towels dried their sweat.

This done, the host produc'd the genial bed,

Sallow the feet, the borders, and the stead,

Which with no costly coverlet they spread,

But coarse old garments; yet such robes as

these

80

With liquor of the best the cottage could afford.

This was the table's ornament and pride, With figures wrought: like pages at his side Stood beechen bowls; and these were shining clean,

Vernish'd with wax without, and lin'd within.

By this the boiling kettle had prepar'd
And to the table sent the smoking lard,
On which with eager appetite they dine,
A sav'ry bit, that serv'd to relish wine;
The wine itself was suiting to the rest, 110
Still working in the must, and lately
press'd.

The second course succeeds like that before; Plums, apples, nuts, and, of their wintry store,

Dry figs and grapes, and wrinkled dates