The Fable of Cyparissus



10:171 Amid the throng of this promiscuous wood,
10:172 With pointed top, the taper cypress stood;
10:173 A tree, which once a youth, and heav'nly fair,
10:174 Was of that deity the darling care,
10:175 Whose hand adapts, with equal skill, the strings
10:176 To bows with which he kills, and harps to which he sings.

10:177 For heretofore, a mighty stag was bred,
10:178 Which on the fertile fields of Caea fed;
10:179 In shape and size he all his kind excell'd,
10:180 And to Carthaean nymphs was sacred held.
10:181 His beamy head, with branches high display'd,
10:182 Afforded to itself an ample shade;
10:183 His horns were gilt, and his smooth neck was grac'd
10:184 With silver collars thick with gems enchas'd:
10:185 A silver boss upon his forehead hung,
10:186 And brazen pendants in his ear-rings rung.
10:187 Frequenting houses, he familiar grew,
10:188 And learnt by custom, Nature to subdue;
10:189 'Till by degrees, of fear, and wildness, broke,
10:190 Ev'n stranger hands his proffer'd neck might stroak.

10:191 Much was the beast by Caea's youth caress'd,
10:192 But thou, sweet Cyparissus, lov'dst him best:
10:193 By thee, to pastures fresh, he oft was led,
10:194 By thee oft water'd at the fountain's head:
10:195 His horns with garlands, now, by thee were ty'd,
10:196 And, now, thou on his back wou'dst wanton ride;
10:197 Now here, now there wou'dst bound along the plains,
10:198 Ruling his tender mouth with purple reins.

10:199 'Twas when the summer sun, at noon of day,
10:200 Thro' glowing Cancer shot his burning ray,
10:201 'Twas then, the fav'rite stag, in cool retreat,
10:202 Had sought a shelter from the scorching heat;
10:203 Along the grass his weary limbs he laid,
10:204 Inhaling freshness from the breezy shade:
10:205 When Cyparissus with his pointed dart,
10:206 Unknowing, pierc'd him to the panting heart.
10:207 But when the youth, surpriz'd, his error found,
10:208 And saw him dying of the cruel wound,
10:209 Himself he would have slain thro' desp'rate grief:
10:210 What said not Phoebus, that might yield relief!
10:211 To cease his mourning, he the boy desir'd,
10:212 Or mourn no more than such a loss requir'd.
10:213 But he, incessant griev'd: at length address'd
10:214 To the superior Pow'rs a last request;
10:215 Praying, in expiation of his crime,
10:216 Thenceforth to mourn to all succeeding time.

10:217 And now, of blood exhausted he appears,
10:218 Drain'd by a torrent of continual tears;
10:219 The fleshy colour in his body fades,
10:220 And a green tincture all his limbs invades;
10:221 From his fair head, where curling locks late hung,
10:222 A horrid bush with bristled branches sprung,
10:223 Which stiffning by degrees, its stem extends,
10:224 'Till to the starry skies the spire ascends.

10:225 Apollo sad look'd on, and sighing, cry'd,
10:226 Then, be for ever, what thy pray'r imply'd:
10:227 Bemoan'd by me, in others grief excite;
10:228 And still preside at ev'ry fun'ral rite.

10:229 Thus the sweet artist in a wondrous shade
10:230 Of verdant trees, which harmony had made,
10:231 Encircled sate, with his own triumphs crown'd,
10:232 Of listning birds, and savages around.
10:233 Again the trembling strings he dext'rous tries,
10:234 Again from discord makes soft musick rise.
10:235 Then tunes his voice: O Muse, from whom I sprung,
10:236 Jove be my theme, and thou inspire my song.
10:237 To Jove my grateful voice I oft have rais'd,
10:238 Oft his almighty pow'r with pleasure prais'd.
10:239 I sung the giants in a solemn strain,
10:240 Blasted, and thunder-struck on Phlegra's plain.
10:241 Now be my lyre in softer accents mov'd,
10:242 To sing of blooming boys by Gods belov'd;
10:243 And to relate what virgins, void of shame,
10:244 Have suffer'd vengeance for a lawless flame.

10:245 The King of Gods once felt the burning joy,
10:246 And sigh'd for lovely Ganimede of Troy:
10:247 Long was he puzzled to assume a shape
10:248 Most fit, and expeditious for the rape;
10:249 A bird's was proper, yet he scorns to wear
10:250 Any but that which might his thunder bear.
10:251 Down with his masquerading wings he flies,
10:252 And bears the little Trojan to the skies;
10:253 Where now, in robes of heav'nly purple drest,
10:254 He serves the nectar at th' Almighty's feast,
10:255 To slighted Juno an unwelcome guest.