While Perseus entertain’d with this report
His father Cepheus, and the list’ning court,
Within the palace walls was heard aloud
The roaring noise of some unruly crowd;
Not like the songs which cheerful friends prepare
For nuptial days, but sounds that threaten’d war;
And all the pleasures of this happy feast,
To tumult turn’d, in wild disorder ceased:
So, when the sea is calm, we often find
A storm raised sudden by some furious wind.
Chief in the riot Phineus first appear’d,
The rash ringleader of this boist’rous herd,
And brandishing his brazen-pointed lance,
“Behold,” he said, “an injured man advance,
Stung with resentment for his ravish’d wife;
Nor shall thy wings, O Perseus, save thy life;
Nor Jove himself, though we’ve been often told,
Who got thee in the form of tempting gold.”
His lance was aim’d, when Cepheus ran and said,
“Hold! brother, hold! what brutal rage has made
Your frantic mind so black a crime conceive?
Are these the thanks that you to Perseus give?
This the reward that to his worth you pay,
Whose timely valour saved Andromeda?
Nor was it he, if you would reason right,
That forced her from you, but the jealous spite
Of envious Nereids, and Jove’s high decree,
And that devouring monster of the sea,
That ready, with his jaws wide gaping, stood
To eat my child, the fairest of my blood.
You lost her then, when she seem’d past relief,
And wish’d, perhaps, her death to ease your grief
With my afflictions: not content to view
Andromeda in chains, unhelp’d by you,
Her spouse, and uncle; will you grieve that he
Exposed his life the dying maid to free?
And shall you claim his merit? Had you thought
Her charms so great, you should have bravely sought
That blessing on the rocks where fix’d she lay:
But now let Perseus bear his prize away,
By service gain’d, by promised faith possess’d;
To him I owe it, that my age is bless’d
Still with a child: nor think that I prefer
Perseus to thee, but to the loss of her.”
Phineus on him and Perseus roll’d about
His eyes in silent rage, and seem’d to doubt
Which to destroy, till, resolute at length,
He threw his spear with the redoubled strength
His fury gave him, and at Perseus struck;
But missing Perseus, in his seat it stuck;
Who, springing nimbly up, return’d the dart,
And almost plunged it in his rival’s heart;
But he for safety to the altar ran;
Unfit protection for so vile a man:
Yet was the stroke not vain, as Rhoetus found,
Who in his brow received a mortal wound;
Headlong he tumbled, when his scull was broke,
From which his friends the fatal weapon took,
While he lay trembling, and his gushing blood
In crimson streams around the table flow’d.
But this provoked the unruly rabble worse:
They flung their darts; and some in loud discourse
To death young Perseus and the monarch doom;
But Cepheus left before the guilty room,
With grief appealing to the gods above,
Who laws of hospitality approve,
Who faith protect, and succour injured right,
That he was guiltless of this barb’rous fight.
Pallas her brother Perseus close attends,
And with her ample shield from harm defends,
Raising a sprightly courage in his heart:
But Indian Athis took the weaker part:
Born in the crystal grottoes of the sea,
Limnate’s son, a fenny nymph, and she
Daughter of Ganges: graceful was his mien,
His person lovely, and his age sixteen:
His habit made his native beauty more:
A purple mantle fringed with gold he wore;
His neck, well turn’d, with golden chains was graced;
His hair, with myrrh perfumed, was nicely dress’d.
Though with just aim he could the javelin throw,
Yet with more skill he drew the bending bow;
And now was drawing it with artful hand,
When Perseus, snatching up a flaming brand,
Whirl’d sudden at his face the burning wood,
Crush’d his eyes in, and quench’d the fire with blood;
Through the soft skin the splinter’d bones appear,
And spoil’d the face that lately was so fair.
When Lycabas his Athis thus beheld,
How was his heart with friendly horror fill’d!
A youth so noble, to his soul so dear,
To see his shapeless look, his dying groans to hear!
He snatch’d the bow the boy was used to bend,
And cried, “With me, false traitor, dare contend;
Boast not a conquest o’er a child, but try
Thy strength with me, who all thy powers defy,
Nor think so mean an act a victory.”
While yet he spoke he flung the whizzing dart,
Which pierced the plaited robe, but miss’d his heart.
Perseus defied, upon him fiercely press’d
With sword unsheathed, and plunged it in his breast:
His eyes o’erwhelm’d with night, he stumbling falls,
And with his latest breath on Athis calls;
Pleased that so near the lovely youth he lies,
He sinks his head upon his friend, and dies.
Next eager Phorbas, old Methion’s son,
Came rushing forward with Amphimedon,
When the smooth pavement, slippery made with gore,
Tripp’d up their feet, and flung them on the floor:
The sword of Perseus, who by chance was nigh,
Prevents their rise; and where they fall, they lie:
Full in his ribs Amphimedon he smote,
And then stuck fiery Phorbas in the throat.
Eurythus lifting up his axe, the blow
Was thus prevented by his nimble foe:
A golden cup he seizes, high emboss’d,
And at his head the massy goblet toss’d:
It hits, and from his forehead bruised rebounds,
And blood and brains he vomits from his wounds;
With his slain fellows on the floor he lies,
And death for ever shuts his swimming eyes.
Then Polydaemon fell, a goddess born:
Phlegias and Elycen, with locks unshorn,
Next follow’d: next the stroke of death he gave
To Clytus, Abanis, and Lycetus brave;
While o’er unnumber’d heaps of ghastly dead
The Argive hero’s feet triumphant tread.
But Phineus stands aloof, and dreads to feel
His rival’s force, and flies his pointed steel;
Yet threw a dart from far; by chance it lights
On Idas, who for neither party fights:
But wounded, sternly thus to Phineus said:
“Since of a neuter thou a foe hast made,
This I return thee,” drawing from his side
The dart, which, as he strove to fling, he died.
Odites fell by Clymenus’s sword;
The Cephen court had not a greater lord.
Hypseus his blade does in Protenor sheath;
But brave Lyncides soon revenged his death.
Here too was old Emathion, one that fear’d
The gods, and in the cause of Heaven appear’d,
Who, only wishing the success of right,
And by his age exempted from the fight,
Both sides alike condemns: “This impious war
Cease, cease,” he cries; “these bloody broils forbear.”
This scarce the sage, with high concern, had said,
When Chromis, at a blow, struck off his head,
Which, dropping, on the royal altar roll’d,
Still staring on the crowd with aspect bold;
And still it seem’d their horrid strife to blame;
In life and death his pious zeal the same:
While clinging to the horns the trunk expires,
The sever’d head consumes amid the fires.
Then Phineus, who from far his javelin threw,
Broteas and Ammon, twins and brothers, slew;
For knotted gauntlets matchless in the field;
But gauntlets must to swords and javelins yield.
Ampycus next, with hallow’d fillets bound,
As Ceres’ priest, and with a mitre crown’d,
His spear transfix’d, and struck him to the ground.
O Iapetides, with pain I tell
How you, sweet lyrist, in the riot fell:
What worse than brutal rage his breast could fill
Who did thy blood, O bard celestial! spill?
Kindly you press’d amid the princely throng,
To crown the feast, and give the nuptial song:
Discord abhorr’d the music of thy lyre,
Whose notes did gentle peace so well inspire:
Thee when fierce Pettalus far off espied,
Defenceless with thy harp, he scoffing cried,
“Go, to the ghosts thy soothing lessons play;
We loathe thy lyre, and scorn thy peaceful lay;”
And, as again he fiercely bid him go,
He pierced his temples with a mortal blow.
His harp he held, though sinking on the ground,
Whose strings in death his trembling fingers found,
By chance, and tuned by chance a dying sound.
With grief Lycormas saw him fall, from far,
And wresting from the door a massy bar,
Full in his poll lays on a load of knocks,
Which stun him, and he falls like a devoted ox.
Another bar Pelates would have snatch’d,
But Corythus his motions slyly watch’d;
He darts his weapon from a private stand,
And rivets to the post his veiny hand;
When straight a missive spear transfix’d his side,
By Abas thrown, and, as he hung, he died.
Melaneus on the prince’s side was slain,
And Dorylas, who own’d a fertile plain,
Of Nasamonia’s fields the wealthy lord,
Whose crowded barns could scarce contain their hoard:
A whizzing spear obliquely gave a blow,
Stuck in his groin, and pierced the nerves below:
His foe beheld his eyes convulsive roll,
His ebbing veins, and his departing soul,
Then taunting said: “Of all thy spacious plains,
This spot thy only property remains.”
He left him thus; but had no sooner left,
Than Perseus in revenge his nostrils cleft;
From his friend’s breast the murdering dart he drew,
And the same weapon at the murderer threw;
His head in halves the darted javelin cut,
And on each side the brain came issuing out.
Fortune his friend, his deaths around he deals,
And this his lance, and that his falchion feels:
Now Clytius dies; and, by a different wound,
The twin, his brother Clanis, bites the ground:
In his rent jaw the bearded weapon sticks,
And the steel’d dart does Clytius’ thigh transfix.
With these Mendesian Celadon he slew;
And Astreus next, whose mother was a Jew;
His sire uncertain: then by Perseus fell
Aethion, who could things to come foretell;
But now he knows not whence the javelin flies
That wounds his breast, nor by whose arm he dies.
The squire to Phineus next his valour tried,
And fierce Agyrtes stain’d with parricide.
As these are slain, fresh numbers still appear,
And wage with Perseus an unequal war;
To rob him of his right—the maid he won,
By honour, promise, and desert his own.
With him the father of the beauteous bride,
The mother, and the frighted virgin, side:
With shrieks and doleful cries they rend the air:
Their shrieks confounded with the din of war,
With clashing arms, and groanings of the slain,
They grieve unpitied, and unheard complain.
The floor with ruddy streams Bellona stains;
And Phineus a new war with double rage maintains.
Perseus begirt, from all around they pour
Their lances on him, a tempestuous shower,
Aim’d all at him; a cloud of darts and spears,
Or blind his eyes, or whistle round his ears.
Their numbers to resist, against the wall
He guards his back secure, and dares them all.
Here from the left Molpeus renews the fight,
And bold Ethemon presses on the right:
As when a hungry tiger near him hears
Two lowing herds, a while he both forbears,
Nor can his hopes of this or that renounce,
So strong he lusts to prey on both at once:
Thus Perseus now with that or this is loath
To war distinct, but rain would fall on both:
And first Chaonian Molpeus felt his blow,
And fled, and never after faced his foe:
Then fierce Ethemon, as he turn’d his back,
Hurried with fury, aiming at his neck,
His brandish’d sword against the marble struck
With all his might; the brittle weapon broke,
And in his throat the point rebounding stuck.
Too slight the wound for life to issue thence,
And yet too great for battle or defence:
His arms extended, in this piteous state,
For mercy he would sue, but sues too late;
Perseus has in his bosom plunged the sword,
And ere he speaks, the wound prevents the word.
The crowds increasing, and his friends distress’d
Himself by warring multitudes oppress’d;
“Since thus unequally you fight, ’tis time,”
He cried, “to punish your presumptuous crime:
Beware, my friends:” his friends were soon prepar’d;
Their sight averting, high the head he rear’d,
And Gorgon on his foes severely stared.
“Vain shift!” says Thescelus, with aspect bold,
“Thee and thy bugbear monster I behold
With scorn:” he lifts his arm, but ere he threw
The dart, the hero to a statue grew.
In the same posture still the marble stands,
And holds the warrior’s weapons in its hands.
Amphyx, whom yet this wonder can’t alarm,
Heaves at Lyncides’ breast his impious arm;
But, while thus daringly he presses on,
His weapon and his arrn are turn’d to stone.
Next Nileus, he who vainly said he owed
His origin to Nile’s prolific flood;
Who on his shield seven silver rivers bore,
His birth to witness by the arms he wore;
Full of his sevenfold father, thus express’d
His boast to Perseus, and his pride confess’d:
“See whence we sprung: let this thy comfort be,
In thy sure death, that thou did’st die by me.”
While yet he spoke, the dying accents hung
In sounds imperfect on his marble tongue:
Though changed to stone, his lips he seem’d to stretch,
And through the insensate rock would force a speech.
This Eryx saw, but seeing would not own:
“The mischief by yourselves,” he cries, “is done;
’Tis your cold courage turns your hearts to stone:
Come, follow me; fall on the stripling boy,
Kill him, and you his magic arms destroy.”
Then rushing on, his arm to strike he rear’d,
And marbled o’er his varied frame appear’d.
These for affronting Pallas were chastised,
And justly met the death they had despised;
But brave Aconteus, Perseus’ friend, by chance
Look’d back, and met the Gorgon’s fatal glance;
A statue now become, he ghastly stares,
And still the foe to mortal combat dares.
Astyages the living likeness knew,
On the dead stone with vengeful fury flew;
But impotent his rage; the jarring blade
No print upon the solid marble made:
Again, as with redoubled might he struck,
Himself astonish’d in the quarry stuck.
The vulgar deaths ’twere tedious to rehearse,
And fates below the dignity of verse:
Their safety in their flight two hundred found;
Two hundred by Medusa’s head were stoned.
Fierce Phineus now repents the wrongful fight,
And views his varied friends; a dreadful sight;
He knows their faces, for their help he sues,
And thinks, not hearing him, that they refuse;
By name he begs their succour, one by one,
Then doubts their life, and feels the friendly stone.
Struck with remorse, and conscious of his pride,
Convict of sin, he turn’d his eyes aside;
With suppliant mien, to Perseus thus he prays:
“Hence with the head, as far as winds and seas
Can bear thee; hence; O quit the Cephen shore,
And never curse us with Medusa more;
That horrid head, which stiffens into stone
Those impious men, who, daring death, look on.
I warr’d not with thee out of hate or strife;
My honest cause was to defend my wife,
First pledged to me: what crime could I suppose,
To arm my friends, and vindicate my spouse?
But vain, too late, I see, was our design;
Mine was the title, but the merit thine.
Contending made me guilty, I confess;
But penitence should make that guilt the less:
’Twas thine to conquer by Minerva’s power;
Favour’d by heaven, thy mercy I implore;
For life I sue, the rest to thee I yield:
In pity from my sight remove the shield.”
He suing said, nor durst revert his eyes
On the grim head; and Perseus thus replies:
“Coward, what is in me to grant I will,
Nor blood, unworthy of my valour, spill;
Fear not to perish by my vengeful sword;
From that secure, ’tis all the Fates afford.
Where now I see thee, thou shalt still be seen,
A lasting monument, to please our queen;
There still shall thy betroth’d behold her spouse,
And find his image in her father’s house.”
This said, where Phineus turn’d to shun the shield,
Full in his face the staring head he held;
As here and there he strove to turn aside,
The wonder wrought; the man was petrified:
All marble was his frame, his humid eyes
Dropp’d tears, which hung upon the stone like ice;
In suppliant posture, with uplifted hands,
And fearful look, the guilty statue stands
Hence Perseus to his native city hies,
Victorious, and rewarded with his prize:
Conquest, o’er Praetus the usurper, won,
He reinstates his grandsire in the throne.
Praetus his brother dispossess’d by might,
His realm enjoy’d, and still detain’d his right:
But Perseus pull’d the haughty tyrant down,
And to the rightful king restored the throne;
Weak was the usurper, as his cause was wrong:
Where Gorgon’s head appears, what arms are strong?
When Perseus to his host the monster held,
They soon were statues, and their king expell’d.
Thence to Seriphus with the head he sails,
Whose prince his story treats as idle tales:
Lord of a little isle, he scorns to seem
Too credulous, but laughs at that and him;
Yet did he not so much suspect the truth,
As, out of pride or envy, hate the youth.
The Argive prince, at his contempt enraged,
To force his faith by fatal proof engaged:
“Friends, shut your eyes,” he cries: his shield he takes,
And to the king exposed Medusa’s snakes:
The monarch felt the power he would not own,
And stood convict of folly in the stone.