Now shone the morning star in bright array,
To vanquish night, and usher in the day;
The wind veers southward, and moist clouds arise,
That blot with shades the blue meridian skies.
Cephalus feels with joy the kindly gales;
His new allies unfurl the swelling sails;
Steady their course, they cleave the yielding main,
And, with a wish, the intended harbour gain.
Meanwhile King Minos, on the Attic strand,
Displays his martial skill, and wastes the land:
His army lies encamp’d upon the plains
Before Alcathoe’s walls, where Nisus reigns,
On whose gray head a lock of purple hue,
The strength and fortune of his kingdom, grew.
Six moons were gone and past, when still from far
Victoria hover’d o’er the doubtful war.
So long, to both inclined, the impartial maid
Between them both her equal wings display’d.
High on the walls, by Phoebus vocal made,
A turret of the palace raised its head;
And where the god his tuneful harp resign’d,
The sound within the stones still lay enshrined:
Hither the daughter of the purple king
Ascended oft, to hear its music ring,
And, striking with a pebble, would release
The enchanted notes, in times of happy peace.
But now from thence the curious maid beheld
Rough feats of arms, and combats of the field;
And, since the siege was long, had learn’d the name
Of every chief, his character, and fame;
Their arms, their horse, and quiver, she descried,
Nor could the dress of war the warrior hide.
Europa’s son she knew above the rest,
And more than well became a virgin breast.
In vain the crested morion veils his face,
She thinks it adds a more peculiar grace:
His ample shield, emboss’d with burnish’d gold,
Still makes the bearer lovelier to behold:
When the tough javelin, with a whirl, he sends,
His strength and skill the sighing maid commends;
Or, when he strains to draw the circling bow,
And his fine limbs a manly posture show,
Compared with Phoebus, he performs so well,
Let her be judge, and Minos shall excel.
But when, the helm put off, display’d to sight,
And set his features in an open light;
When, vaulting to his seat, his steed he press’d,
Caparison’d in gold, and richly dress’d,
Himself in scarlet sumptuously array’d,
New passions rise, and fire the frantic maid.
“O happy spear!” she cries, “that feels his touch;
Nay, ev’n the reins he holds are bless’d too much.”
O! were it lawful, she could wing her way
Through the stern hostile troops without dismay,
Or throw her body to the distant ground,
And in the Cretans’ happy camp be found.
Would Minos but desire it, she’d expose
Her native country to her country’s foes,
Unbar the gates, the town with flames infest,
Or any thing that Minos should request.
And as she sat, and pleased her longing sight,
Viewing the king’s pavilion, veil’d with white,
“Should joy or grief,” she said, “possess my breast,
To see my country by a war oppress’d?
I’m in suspense! for, though ’tis grief to know
I love a man that is declared my foe,
Yet, in my own despite, I must approve
That lucky war, which brought the man I love:
Yet were I tender’d as a pledge of peace,
The cruelties of war might quickly cease:
O! with what joy I’d wear the chains he gave,
A patient hostage, and a willing slave.
Thou lovely object! if the nymph that bare
Thy charming person were but half so fair,
Well might a god her lovely bloom desire,
And with a kiss indulge his youthful fire.
O! had I wings to glide along the air,
To his dear tent I’d fly, and settle there;
There tell my quality, confess my flame,
And grant him any dowry that he’d name;
All, all I’d give; only my native land,
My dearest country, should excepted stand:
For, perish love, and all expected joys,
Ere with so base a thought my soul complies.
Yet oft the vanquish’d some advantage find,
When conquer’d by a noble, generous mind.
Brave Minos justly has the war begun,
Fired with resentment for his murder’d son:
The righteous gods a righteous cause regard,
And will with victory his arms reward:
We must be conquer’d; and the captive’s fate
Will surely seize us, though it seize us late.
Why then should love be idle, and neglect
What Mars, by arms and perils, will effect?
O prince! I die, with anxious fear oppress’d,
Lest some rash hand should wound my charmer’s breast;
For, if they saw, no barb’rous mind could dare
Against that lovely form to raise a spear.
“But I’m resolved, and fix’d in this decree,
My father’s country shall my dowry be:
Thus I prevent the loss of life and blood,
And, in effect, the action must be good.
Vain resolution! for, at every gate
The trusty sentinels successive wait;
The keys my father keeps: ah! there’s my grief;
’Tis he obstructs all hopes of my relief.
Gods! that this hated light I’d never seen!
Or all my life without a father been!
But gods we all may be; for those that dare
Are gods, and Fortune’s chiefest favours share
The ruling powers a lazy prayer detest;
The bold adventurer succeeds the best.
What other maid, inspired with such a flame,
But would take courage, and abandon shame?
But would, though ruin should ensue, remove
Whate’er opposed, and clear the way to love?
This shall another’s feeble passion dare,
While I sit tame, and languish in despair?
No; for though fire and sword before me lay,
Impatient love through both should force its way.
Yet I have no such enemies to fear;
My sole obstruction is my father’s hair;
His purple lock my sanguine hope destroys,
And clouds the prospect of my rising joys.”
While thus she spoke, amid the thick’ning air
Night supervenes, the greatest nurse of care;
And as the goddess spreads her sable wings,
The virgin’s fears decay, and courage springs.
The hour was come, when man’s o’er-labour’d breast
Surceased its care, by downy sleep possess’d:
All things now hush’d, Scylla, with silent tread,
Urged her approach to Nisus’ royal bed;
There of the fatal lock (accursed theft!)
She her unwitting father’s head bereft.
In safe possession of her impious prey,
Out at a postern gate she takes her way.
Imbolden’d by the merit of the deed,
She traverses the adverse camp with speed,
Till Minos’ tent she reach’d: the righteous king
She thus bespoke, who shiver’d at the thing:
“Behold the effect of love’s resistless sway!
I, Nisus’ royal seed, to thee betray
My country and my gods. For this strange task,
Minos, no other boon but thee I ask.
This purple lock, a pledge of love, receive;
No worthless present, since in it I give
My father’s head.” Moved at a crime so new,
And with abhorrence fill’d, back Minos drew,
Nor touch’d the unhallow’d gift, but thus exclaim’d
(With mien indignant, and with eyes inflamed)—
“Perdition seize thee, thou, thy kind’s disgrace!
May thy devoted carcass find no place
In earth, or air, or sea, by all outcast!
Shall Minos, with so foul a monster, blast
His Cretan world, where cradled Jove was nursed?
Forbid it, heaven!—away, thou most accursed!”
And now Alcathoe, its lord exchanged,
Was under Minos’ domination ranged.
While the most equal king his care applies
To curb the conquer’d, and new laws devise,
The fleet, by his command, with hoisted sails,
And ready oars, invites the murmuring gales.
At length the Cretan hero anchor weigh’d,
Repaying with neglect the abandon’d maid:
Deaf to her cries, he furrows up the main;
In vain she prays, solicits him in vain.
And now she furious grows, in wild despair
She wrings her hands and throws aloft her hair.
“Where runn’st thou?” thus she vents her deep distress,
“Why shunn’st thou her that crown’d thee with success?
Her whose fond love to thee could sacrifice
Her country and her parent; sacred ties!
Can nor my love, nor proffer’d presents, find
A passage to thy heart, and make thee kind?
Can nothing move thy pity? O ingrate!
Canst thou behold my lost, forlorn estate,
And not be soften’d? Canst thou throw off one
Who has no refuge left but thee alone?
Where shall I seek for comfort? whither fly?
My native country does in ashes lie:
Or were ’t not so, my treason bars me there,
And bids me wander. Shall I next repair
To a wrong’d father, by my guilt undone?—
Me all mankind deservedly will shun.
I out of all the world myself have thrown,
To purchase an access to Crete alone,
Which, since refused, ungenerous man, give o’er
To boast thy race; Europa never bore
A thing so savage: thee some tigress bred,
On the bleak Syrt’s inhospitable bed,
Or where Charybdis pours its rapid tide
Tempestuous. Thou art not to Jove allied;
Nor did the king of gods thy mother meet
Beneath a bull’s forged shape, and bear to Crete:
That fable of thy glorious birth is feign’d;
Some wild outrageous bull thy dam sustain’d.
O, father Nisus, now my death behold:
Exult, O city, by my baseness sold:
Minos, obdurate, has avenged ye all;
But ’twas more just by those I wrong’d to fall:
For why shouldst thou, who only didst subdue
By my offending, my offence pursue?
Well art thou match’d to one whose amorous flame
Too fiercely raged for humankind to tame;
One who, within a wooden heifer thrust,
Courted a lowing bull’s mistaken lust,
And from whose monster-teeming womb the earth
Received, what much it mourn’d, a bi-form birth.
But what avail my plaints? the whistling wind,
Which bears him far away, leaves them behind.
Well weigh’d Pasiphae, when she preferr’d
A bull to thee, more brutish than the herd.
But ah! time presses, and the labour’d oars
To distance drive the fleet, and lose the lessening shores.
Think not, ungrateful man, the liquid way
And threat’ning billows shall enforce my stay:
I’ll follow thee in spite: my arms I’ll throw
Around thy oars, or grasp thy crooked prow,
And drag through drenching seas.” Her eager tongue
Had hardly closed the speech, when forth she sprung,
And proved the deep. Cupid, with added force,
Recruits each nerve, and aids her watery course.
Soon she the ship attains; unwelcome guest!
And as with close embrace its sides she press’d,
A hawk from upper air came pouring down.
(’Twas Nisus cleft the sky with wings new-grown.)
At Scylla’s head his horny bill he aims;
She, fearful of the blow, the ship disclaims,
Quitting her hold; and yet she fell not far,
But, wond’ring, finds herself sustain’d in air.
Changed to a lark, she mottled pinions shook,
And, from the ravish’d lock, the name of Ciris took.