The chieftain (whether Argos gave him birth,
Or rocky Tiryns claims the' heroic work,
Or whether proud Mycena were the place),
If memory fail not, was of Perseus' race.
No Greek but you such actions could achieve,
This tawny skin inclines me to believe-
This skin, whose awful honours grace your side,
Speak the bold deed, and mark the beast that died.
Say then, if you are he, as stories tell,
He, by whose arm the savage prowler fell;
Say, by what weapon pierced, the monster bled,
And what dire fate his wandering footsteps led
To Nemea? no such beast our forests own;
But bears, and tusky boars, and wolves alone,
Are natives here. Some mock'd the Argive
youth,
And scorn'd the' amusive tale, as void of truth.'
He spoke and now, as broad enough for two
The social path, inviting converse, grew,
Walk'd all attentive by the hero's side,
Who thus, to gratify his wish, replied—
'The Argive's story you recount is true;
And hence, great prince,the just surmise you drew:
Since then you ask, enamour'd of my fame,
How bled the furious beast, and whence he came!
My tongue shall tell you, in authentic strain,
What other Argives might attempt in vain.
Sent by some god, 'tis said, the monster flew
In vengeance mid the base Phoronean crew,
For sacrifice unpaid; and rush'd amain,
One flood of carnage, through Pisæum's plain;
And o'er the Bembinaan glades, more fell,
Bade all the deluge of his fury swell!
Euristheus first enjoin'd me to engage
This beast, but wish'd me slain beneath his rage,
Arm'd with my bow, my quiver'd shafts, I went,
And grasp'd my club, on bold defiance bent—
My knotted club, of strong wild olive made,
That, rugged, its unpolish'd rind display'd;
That with a wrench from Helicon I tore,
Its roots and all, and thence the trophy bore.
Soon as I reach'd the wood, I bent my bow,
Firm strung its painted curve, and couching low,
Notch'd on the nerve its arrow-look'd around,
And from my covert traced the forest-ground.
'Twas now high noon. No roar I heard, nor saw
One print that might betray the prowler's paw;
Nor rustic sound, amidst his pastoral care,
Nor herdsman, who might show the lion's lair.
Nor herds nor herdsmen venture to the plain;
All, fix'd by terror, in their stalls remain.
At length, as up the mountain groves I go,
Amidst a thicket, I espy my foe:
Ere evening, gorged with carnage and with blood,
He sought his den deep-buried in the wood.
Slaughter's black dyes-his face-his chest.
distain,
And hang, still blacker, from his clotted mane! While shooting out his tongue with foam besmear'd,
He licks the grisly gore that steep'd his beard.
Midst bowering shrubs I hid me from his view,
Then aim'd an arrow, as he nearer drew,
But from his flank the shaft rebounding flew.
His fiery eyes he lifted from the ground,
High raised his tawny head, and gazed around,
And gnash'd his teeth tremendous--when again
(Vex'd that the first had spent its force in vain),
I launch'd an arrow at the monster's heart;
It flew but left unpierced the vital part:
His shaggy hide repulsive of the blow,
The feather'd vengeance hiss'd, and fell below.
My bow, once more, with vehemence I tried—
Then first he saw—and rising in the pride
Of lordly anger, to the fight impell'd,
Scourged with his lashing tail his sides, and swell'd
His brindled neck, and bent into a bow
His back, in act to bound upon his foe!
As when a wheeler his tough fig tree bends,
And flexile to a wheel each felly tends,
Through gradual heat-a while the timber stands
In curves, then springs elastic from his hands;
Thus the fell beast, high bounding from afar,
Sprung, with a sudden impulse, to the war.
My left hand held my darts, and round my breast
Spread, thickly wrought, my strong protecting
My olive club I wielded in my right;
[vest.
And his shagg'd temples struck with all my might:
The olive snapp'd asunder on his head—
Trembling he reel'd—the savage fierceness fled
From his dimm❜d eyes; and all contused his brain
Seem'd swimming in an agony of pain.
This-this I mark'd; and ere the beast respired,
Flung down my painted bow, with triumph fired,
Seized instant his broad neck; behind him press'd
From his fell claws unsheath'd to guard my breast;
And twined, quick mounting on his horrid back,
My legs in his, to guard from an attack
My griping thighs-then heaved him (as the breath
Lost its last struggles in the gasp of death)
Aloft in air; and hail'd the savage dead!
Hell yawn'd-to hell his monster spirit fled!
The conquest o'er, a while I vainly tried
To strip with stone and steel the shaggy hide;
Some god inspired me, in the serious pause
Of thought, and pointed to the lion's claws.
With these full soon the prostrate beast I flay'd,
And in the shielding spoils my limbs array'd.
Thus, drench'd with flocks' and herds' and shep-
herds' blood,
Expired the monster of the Nemean wood.'
THE bright Agavé, with her cheeks of snow,
And Ino, kindling with a sacred glow,
And wild Autonoe, had resolved to keep
Three mystic revels on the mountain steep!
There, on a spot wide opening in the grove,
They rear'd twelve verdant altars, rudely wove
With branches of hoar oak, and ivy green,
And golden asphodel, that shone between.
Then, while to beauteous Semele divine
Three shrines arose to holier Bacchus nine,
On the fresh fabric of the leafy spray
Their gifts, in honour of the God, they lay:
Mysterious gifts, in osier baskets brought,
And offer'd with the rites he loved and taught.
But Pentheus from a rock the rites survey'd,
Embower'd amidst a mastic's ancient shade.
Autonoe saw, with instant yellings flew,
The hallow'd vessels of the god o'erthrew
(Too sacred for the vulgar glance), and cries
Revenge!' as frenzy flashes from her eyes!
Down-down they hurried, by fell fury led, Tuck'd their long robes, and rush'd where Pentheus fled!
What means this rage? what means'
'Wretch, thou shalt feel!' Autonoe fierce replied.
Straight in his blood her hands the mother drench'd,
While roaring, like a lioness, she wrench'd
His sunder'd head! and Ino, as she press'd
Infuriate with her foot, the royal breast,
His shoulders from the writhing body tore,
And dread Autonoe, rioting in gore,
Seized, with a horrid howl, upon his heart;
And every maddening female snatch'd a part,
All stain'd with carnage, as through Thebes
they go,
And bear not Pentheus from the mount, but woe!
Such was his fate: and O! let none presume
To tempt, with wicked scorn, so dire a doom;
Nor mock the god, and deem himself secure,
In youth though blooming, though in age mature.
For me, may I the just-the pious love,
And hence gain favour in the sight of Jove.
From such, sure blessings to their offspring flow;
From impious sires, hereditary woe!
Hail, Bacchus, foster'd in the Thunderer's thigh;
Hail, Semelé! and ye, who from on high
Derived the fires your righteous rage display'd,
And gave your kindred king to Pluto's shade.
Hail, heroines, hail! let none your fury blame!
Let none condemn the gods! a god inspired the
flame!
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