Classic Poem

From him, the Caledonians sought Relief;
Though valiant Meleagrus was their Chief.
The Cause, a Boar, who ravag'd far and near:
Of Cynthia 's Wrath, th' avenging Minister.
For Oeneus with Autumnal Plenty bless'd,
By Gifts to Heav'n his Gratitude express'd:
Cull'd Sheafs, to Ceres ; to Lyaeus , Wine;
To Pan , and Pales , offer'd Sheep and Kine;
And Fat of Olives, to Minerva 's Shrine
Beginning from the Rural Gods, his Hand
Was lib'ral to the Pow'rs of high Command
Each Deity in ev'ry Kind was bless'd,
Till at Diana 's Fane th' invidious Honour ceas'd
Wrath touches ev'n the Gods; the Queen of Night
Fir'd with Disdain, and jealous of her Right,
Unhonour'd though I am, atleast, said she
Not unreveng'd that impious act shall be.
Swift as the Word, she sped the Boar away,
With Charge on those devoted fields to prey
No larger Bulls th' Ægyptian pastures feed,
And none so large Sicilian Meadows breed,
His Eye-balls glave with Fire suffus'd with Blood;
His Neck shoots up a thick set thorny Wood,
His bristled Back a Trench impal'd appears,
And stands erected, like a Field of Spears.
Froth fills his Chaps, he sends a grunting Sound,
And part he churns, and part befoams the Ground.
For Tusks with Indian Elephants he strove,
And Jove 's own Thunder from his Mouth he drove.
He burns the Leaves; the scorching Blast invades
The tender Corn, and shrivels up the Blades:
Or suff'ring not their yellow Beards to rear,
He tramples down the Spikes, and intercepts the Year.
In vain the Barns expect their promis'd Load,
Nor Barns at home, nor Reeks are heap'd abroad:
In vain the Hinds the Threshing-Floor prepare,
And exercise their Plails in empty Air.
With Olives ever-green the Ground is strow'd,
And Grapes ungather'd shed their gen'rous Blood
Amid the Fold he rages, nor the Sheep
Their Shepherds, nor the Grooms their Bulls can keep.
From Fields to Walls the frighted Rabble run,
Nor think themselves secure within the Town:
Till Meleagros , and his chosen Crew,
Contemn the Danger, and the Praise pursue.
Fair Leda 's Twins in time to Stars decreed
One fought on Foot, one curb'd the fiery Steed;
Then issu'd forth fam'd Jason after these,
Who mann'd the foremost Ship that sail'd the Seas;
Then Theseus join'd with bold Perithous came;
A single Concord in a double Name.
The Thestian Sons, Idas who swiftly ran,
And Ceneus , once a Woman, now a Man.
Lynceus , with Eagle's Eyes, and Lion's Heart;
Leucippus , with his never-erring Dart;
Acastus, Phileus, Phaenix, Telamon,
Echion, Lelex , and Eurytion ,
Achilles Father, and great Phocus Son;
Dryas the Fierce, and Hippasus the Strong;
With twice old Iolas , and Nestor then but young
Laertes active, and Ancaeus bold;
Mopsus the Sage, who future things foretold;
And t'other Seer, yet by his Wife unsold
A thousand others of immortal Fame;
Among the rest, fair Atalanta came,
Grace of the Woods: A Diamond Buckle bound
Her Vest behind, that else had flow'd upon the Ground,
And shew'd her buskin'd Legs; her Head was bare,
But for her native Ornament of Hair;
Which in a simple Knot was ty'd above,
Sweet Negligence! unheeded Bait of Love!
Her sounding Quiver, on her Shoulder ty'd,
One Hand a Dart, and one a Bow supply'd.
Such was her Face, as in a Nymph display'd
A fair fierce Boy, or in a Boy betray'd
The blushing Beauties of a modest Maid.
The Caledonian Chief at once the Dame
Beheld, at once his Heart receiv'd the Flame,
With Heav'ns averse. O happy Youth, he cry'd;
For whom thy Fates reserve so fait a Bride!
He sigh'd, and had no Leisure more to say:
His Honour call'd his Eyes another way,
And forc'd him to pursue the now neglected Prey.
There stood a Forest on a Mountain's Brow,
Which over-look'd the shaded Plains below
No sounding Ax presum'd those Trees to bite;
Coeval with the World, a venerable Sight
The Heroes there arriv'd, some spread around
The Toils; some search the Footsteps on the Ground:
Some from the Chains the faithful Dogs unbound
Of Action eager, and intent in Thought,
The Chiefs their honourable Danger sought:
A Valley stood below; the common Drain
Of Waters from above, and falling Rain:
The Bottom was a moist and marshy Ground,
Whose Edges were with bending Oziers crown'd:
The knotty Bulrush next in order stood,
And all within of Reeds a trembling Wood
From hence the Boar was rous'd, and sprung amain,
Like Lightning sudden, on the Warrior-Train;
Beats down the Trees before him, shakes the Ground,
The Forest echoes to the crackling Sound;
Shout the fierce Youth, and Clamours ring around
All stood with their protended Spears prepar'd,
With broad Steel Heads the brandish'd Weapons glar'd.
The Beast impetuous with his Tusks aside
Deals glancing Wounds; the fearful Dogs divide:
All spend their Mouth aloof, but none abide
Echion threw the first, but miss'd his Mark,
And stuck his Boar-spear on a Maple's Bark.
Then Jason ; and his Javelin seem'd to take,
But fail'd with Over force, and whiz'd above his Back
Mopsus was next, but e'er the chrew address'd
To Phaebus , thus O Pation, help thy Priest
If I adore, and ever have ador'd
Thy Pow'r Divine, thy present Aid afford;
That I may reach the Beast. The God allow'd
His Pray'r, and smiling, gave him what he cou'd
He reach'd the Savage, but no Blood he drew;
Dian unarm'd the Javelin as it flew.
This chaf'd the Boar, his Nostrils Flames expire,
And his red Eye-balls roul with living Fire.
Whirl'd from a Sling, or from an Engine thrown,
Amid the Foes, so flies a mighty Stone,
As flew the Beast: The Lest Wing put to Flight,
The Chiefs o'er-born, he rushes on the Right.
Empalamos and Pelagon he laid
In Dust, and next to Death, but for their Fellows Aid.
Onesimus far'd worse, prepar'd to fly,
The fatal Fang drove deep within his Thigh,
And cut the Nerves: The Nerves no more sustain
The Bulk; the Bulk unprop'd, falls headlong on the Plain
Nestor had fail'd the Fall of Troy to see,
But leaning on his Lance, he vaulted on a Tree;
Then gath'ring up his Feet, look'd down with Fear,
And thought his monstrous Foe was still too near.
Against a Stump his Tusk the Monster grinds,
And in the sharpen'd Edge new Vigour finds;
Then, trusting to his Arms, young Othrys found,
And ranch'd his Hips with one continu'd Wound
Now Leda 's Twins, the future Stars, appear;
White were their Habits, white their Horses were:
Conspicuous both, and both in Act to throw,
Their trembling Lances brandish'd at the Foe!
Nor had they miss'd; but he to Thickets fled,
Conceal'd from aiming Spears, not pervious to the Steed,
But Telamon rush'd in, and happ'd to meet
A rising Root, that held his fastned Feet;
So down he fell, whom, sprawling on the Ground,
His Brother from the wooden Gyves unbound.
Mean time the Virgin-Huntress was not slow
T'expel the Shaft from her contracted Bow:
Beneath his Ear the fastned Arrow stood,
And from the Wound appear'd the trickling Blood.
She blush'd for Joy: But Meleagros rais'd
His Voice with loud Applause, and the fair Archerprais'd.
He was the first to see, and first to show
His Friends the Marks of the successful Blow.
Nor shall thy Valour want the Praises due,
He said; a virtuous Envy seiz'd the Crew.
They shout; the Shouting animates their Hearts,
And all at once employ their thronging Darts:
But out of Order thrown, in Air they joyn,
And Multitude makes frustrate the Design.
With both his Hands the proud Ancaeus takes,
And flourishes his double-biting Ax:
Then, forward to his Fate, he took a Stride
Before the rest, and to his Fellows cry'd,
Give place, and mark the Diff'rence; if you can,
Between a Woman Warrior, and a Man;
The Boar is doom'd; nor though Diana lend
Her Aid, Diana can her Beast defend.
Thus boasted he; then stretch'd, on Tiptoe stood,
Secure to make his empty Promise good
But the more wary Beast prevents the Blow,
And upward rips the Groin of his audacious Foe.
Ancaeus falls; his Bowels from the Wound
Rush out, and clotter'd Blood distains the Ground.
Perithous , no small Portion of the War,
Press'd on, and shook his Lance. To whom from far
Thus Theseus cry'd; O stay, my better Part,
My more than Mistress; of my Heart, the Heart.
The Strong may fight aloof; Ancaeus try'd
His Force too near, and by presuming dy'd:
He said, and while he spake his Javelin threw,
Hissing in Air th'unerring Weapon flew;
But on an Arm of Oak, that stood betwixt
The Marks-man and the Mark, his Lance he fixt.
Once more bold Jason threw, but fail'd to wound
The Boar, and slew an undeserving Hound,
And through the Dog the Dart was nail'd to Ground.
Two Spears from Meleager 's Hand were sent,
With equal Force, but various in th' Event:
The first was fix'd in Earth, the second stood
On the Boar's bristled Back, and deeply drank his Blood.
Now while the tortur'd Savage turns around,
And flings about his Foam, impatient of the Wound;
The Wound's great Author close at Hand provokes
His Rage, and plies him with redoubled Strokes;
Wheels as he wheels; and with his pointed Dart
Explores the nearest Passage to his Heart
Quick and more quick he spins in giddy Gires,
Then falls, and in much Foam his Soul expires.
This Act with Shouts Heav'n-high the friendly Band
Applaud, and strain in theirs the Victor's Hand.
Then all approach the Slain with vast Surprize,
Admire on what a Breadth of Earth he lies,
And scarce secure, reach out their Spears far,
And blood their Points to prove their Partnership of War.
But he, the conquiring Chief, his Foot impress'd
On the strong Neck of that destructive Beast;
And gazing on the Nymph with ardent Eyes,
Accept, said he fair Nonacrine , my Prize,
And, though inferior, suffer me to join
My Labours, and my Part of Praise, with thine:
At this presents her with the Tusky Head
And Chine, with rising Bristles roughly spread.
Glad, she receiv'd the Gift; and seem'd to take.
With double Pleasure, for the Giver's sake.
The rest were seiz'd with sullen Discontent,
And a deaf Murmur through the Squadron went:
All envy'd; but the Theslyan Brethren show'd
The least Respect, and thus they vent their Spleen aloud:
Lay down those honour'd Spoils, nor think to share,
Weak Woman as thou art, the Prize of War:
Ours is the Title, thine a foreign Claim,
Since Meleagros from our Lineage came.
Trust not thy Beauty; but restore the Prize,
Which he, besotted on that Face and Eyes,
Would rend from us: At this, enflam'd with Spite,
From her they snatch the Gift, from him the Giver's Right.
But soon th'impatient Prince his Fauchion drew,
And cry'd, Ye Robbers of another's Due,
Now learn the Diff'rence, at your proper Cost,
Betwixt true Valour, and an empty Boast.
At this advanc'd, and sudden as the Word,
In proud Plexippus ' Bosom plung'd the Sword:
Toxcus amaz'd, and with Amazement flow,
Or to revenge, or ward the coming Blow,
Stood doubting; and while doubting thus he stood,
Receiv'd the Steel bath'd in his Brother's Blood
Pleas'd with tho first, unknown the second News;
Althea to the Temples pavs their Dues
For her Son's Conquest: when at length appear
Her grills Brethren stretch'd upon the Bier:
Pale at the sudden Sight, she chang'd her Cheer,
And with her Cheer her Robes; but hearing tell
The Cause, the Manner, and by whom they fell,
'Twas Grief no more, or Grief and Rage were one
Within her Soul; at last 'twas Rage alone;
Which burning upwards in Succession, dries
The Tears that stood consid'ring in her Eyes.
There lay a Log unlighted on the Hearth,
When she was lab'ring in the Throws of Birth
For th' unborn Chief; the fatal Sisters came,
And rais'd it up, and toss'd it on the Flame:
Then on the Rock a scanty Measure place
Of vital Flax, and turn'd the Wheel apace;
And turning sung, To this red Brand and thee
O new born Babe, we give an equal Destiny:
So youth out of View. The frighted Dame
Sprung hasty from her Bed, and quench'd the Flame:
The Log, in secret lock'd, the kept with Care,
And that, while thus preserv'd, preserv'd her Heir.
This Brand she now produc'd; and first she strows
The Hearth with Heaps of Chips, and after blows;
Thrice heav'd her Hand, and heav'd, the thrice repress'd:
The Sister and the Mother long contest,
Two doubtful Titles, in one tender Breast:
And now her Lyes and Cheeks with Fury glow,
Now pale her Cheeks, her Eyes with Pity flow:
Now low ring Looks presage approaching Storms,
And now prevailing Love her Face reforms:
Resolv'd, she doubts again; the Tears she dry'd
With burning Rage, are by new Tears supply'd;
And as a Ship, which Winds and Waves assail,
Now with the Current drives, now with the Gale,
Both opposite, and neither long prevail:
She feels a double Force, by Turns obeys
Th' imperious Tempest, and th' impetuous Seas:
So are as Mind, the full relents
With Pit, of that Pay then repents
Sister and Mother long the Scales divide,
But the Beam nodded on the Sister's Side.
Sometimes she softly sigh'd, then roar'd aloud;
But Sighs were stifled in the Cries of Blood.
The pious, impious Wretch at length decreed,
To please her Brothers Ghost, her Son should bleed:
And when the fun'ral Flames began to rise,
Receive, she said, a Sister's Sacrifice;
A Mother's Bowels burn: High in her Hand,
Thus while she spoke, she held the fatal Brand;
Then thrice before the kindled Pile she bow'd,
And the three Furies thrice invok'd aloud:
Come, come, revenging Sisters, come and view
A Sister paving her dead Brothers Due:
A Crime I punish, and a Crime commit;
But Blood for Blood, and Death for Death is fit:
Great Crimes must be with greater Crimes repaid,
And second Funerals on the former laid.
Let the whole Houshold in one Ruin fall,
And may Diana 's Curse o'ertake us all.
Shall Fate to happy Oeneus still allow
One Son, while Theslius stands depriv'd of two?
Better Three lost, than One unpunish'd go
Take then, dear Ghosts, (while yet admitted new
In Hell you wait my Duty) take your Due:
A costly Off'ring on your Tomb is laid,
When with my Blood the Price of yours is paid
Ah! whither am I hurry'd? Ah! forgive,
Ye Shades; and let your Sister's Issue live:
A Mother cannot give him Death; tho' he
Deserves it, he deserves it not from me.
Then shall th'unpunish'd Wretch insult the Slain,
Triumphant live, nor only live, but reign?
While you, thin Shades, the Sport of Winds, are tost
O'er dreary Plains, or tread the burning Coast
I cannot, cannot bear; 'tis past, 'tis done;
Perish this impious, this detested Son:
Perish his Sire, and perish I withall;
And let the House's Heir, and the hop'd Kingdom fall
Where is the Mother fled, her pious Love,
And where the Pains with which ten Months I strove!
Ah! had'st thou dy'd, my Son, in Infant Years,
Thy little Herse had been bedew'd with Tears.
Thou liv'st by me; to me thy Breath resign;
Mine is the Merit, the Demerit thine
Thy Life by double Title I require;
Once giv'n at Birth, and once preserv'd from Fire:
One Murder pay, or add one Murder more,
And me to them who fell by thee restore.
I would, but cannot: My Son's Image stands
Before my Sight; and now their angry Hands
My Brothers hold, and Vengeance these exact,
This pleads Compassion, and repents the Fait
He pleads in vain, and I pronounce his Doon
My Brothers, though unjustly, shall o'ercome.
But having paid their injur'd Ghosts their Due,
My Son requires my Death, and mine shall his pursue:
At this, for the last time, she lifts her Hand,
Averts her Eyes, and, half unwilling, drops the Brand
The Brand, amid the flaming Fewel thrown,
Or drew, or seem'd to draw, a dying Groan:
The Fires themselves but faintly lick'd their Prey,
Then loath'd their impious Food, and would have shrunk away
Just then the Heroe cast a doleful Cry,
And in those absent Flames began to fry:
The blind Contagion rag'd within his Veins;
But he with manly Patience bore his Pains:
He fear'd not Fate, but only griev'd to die
Without an honest Wound, and by a Death so dry
Happy Ancaus , thrice aloud he cry'd,
With what becoming Fate in Arms he dy'd!
Then call'd his Brothers, Sisters, Sire around,
And her to whom his Nuptial Vows were bound;
Perhaps his Mother; a long Sigh he drew,
And his Voice failing, took his last Adieu.
For as the Flames augment, and as they stay
At their full Height, then languish to decay,
They rise and sink by Fits; at last they soar
In one bright Blaze, and then descend no more:
Just so his inward Heats, at height, impair,
Till the last burning Breath shoots out the Soul in Air.
Now lofty Calidon in Ruins lies;
All Ages, all Degrees unsluice their Eyes;
And Heav'n and Earth resound with Murmurs, Groans, and Cries.
Matrons and Maidens beat their Breasts, and tear
Their Habits, and root up their scatter'd Hair:
The wretched Father, Father now no more,
With Sorrow sunk, lies prostrate on the Floor,
Deforms his hoary Locks with Dust obscene,
And curses Age, and loaths a Life prolong'd with Pain
By Steel her stubborn Soul his Mother freed,
And punish'd on her self her impious Deed.
Had I a hundred Tongues, a Wit so large
As could their hundred Offices discharge;
Had Phaebus all his Helicon bestow'd
In all the Streams inspiring all the God;
Those Tongues, that Wit, those Streams, that God in vain
Would offer to describe his Sister's Pain:
They beat their Breasts with many a bruizing Blow,
Till they turn livid, and corrupt the Snow.
The Corps they cherish, while the Corps remains,
And exercise and rub with fruitless Pains;
And when to fun'ral Flames 'tis born away,
They kiss the Bed on which the Body lay:
And when those fun'ral Flames no longer burn,
(The Dust compos'd within a pious Urn)
Ev'n in that Urn their Brother they confess,
And hug it in their Arms, and to their Bosoms press
His Tomb is rais'd; then, stretch'd along the Ground,
Those living Monuments his Tomb surround:
Ev'n to his Name, inscrib'd, their Tears they pay,
Till Tears and Kisses wear his Name away
But Cynthia now had all her Fury spent,
Not with less Ruin than a Race content:
Excepting Gorge , perish'd all the Seed,
And her whom Heav'n for Hercules decreed.
Satiate at last, no longer she pursu'd
The weeping Sisters; but with Wings endu'd,
And horny Beaks, and sent to flit in Air;
Who yearly round the Tomb in feather'd Flocks repair.