These prodigies affect the pious prince:
But more perplex’d with those that happen’d since,
He purposes to seek the Clarian god,
Avoiding Delphi, his more famed abode.
Since Phrygian robbers made unsafe the road:
Yet could he not, from her he loved so well,
The fatal voyage he resolved, conceal.
But when she saw her lord prepared to part,
A deadly cold ran shivering to her heart,
Her faded cheeks are changed to boxen hue,
And in her eyes the tears are ever new.
She thrice essay’d to speak, her accents hung,
And, faltering, died unfinish’d on her tongue,
Or vanish’d into sighs: with long delay
Her voice return’d, and found the wonted way.
“Tell me, my lord,” she said, “what fault unknown
Thy once beloved Alcyone has done?
Whither, ah! whither is thy kindness gone?
Can Ceyx, then, sustain to leave his wife,
And, unconcern’d, forsake the sweets of life?
What can thy mind to this long journey move?
Or need’st thou absence to renew thy love?
Yet, if thou goest by land, though grief possess
My soul, ev’n then my fears will be the less.
But, ah! be warn’d to shun the watery way,
The face is frightful of the stormy sea;
For late I saw adrift disjointed planks,
And empty tombs erected on the banks.
Nor let false hopes to trust betray thy mind,
Because my sire in caves constrains the wind,
Can with a breath their clam’rous rage appease,
They fear his whistle, and forsake the seas:
Not so: for, once indulged, they sweep the main,
Deaf to the call, or, hearing, hear in vain;
But bent on mischief bear the waves before,
And not content with seas, insult the shore,
When ocean, air, and earth at once engage,
And rooted forests fly before their rage:
At once the clashing clouds to battle move,
And lightnings rim across the fields above:
I know them well, and mark’d their rude comport,
While yet a child within my father’s court:
In times of tempest they command alone:
And he but sits precarious on the throne:
The more I know, the more my fears augment;
And fears are oft prophetic of the event;
But if not fears, or reasons will prevail,
If fate has fix’d thee obstinate to sail,
Go not without thy wife, but let me bear
My part of danger with an equal share,
And present, what I suffer only fear;
Then o’er the bounding billows shall we fly,
Secure to live together, or to die.”
These reasons moved her starlike husband’s heart,
But still he held his purpose to depart;
For as he loved her equal to his life,
He would not to the seas expose his wife;
Nor could be wrought his voyage to refrain,
But sought by arguments to soothe her pain;
Nor these avail’d; at length he lights on one,
With which so difficult a case he won:
“My love, so short an absence cease to fear,
For by my father’s holy flame I swear,
Before two moons their orb with light adorn,
If Heaven allow me life, I will return.”
This promise of so short a stay prevails;
He soon equips the ships, supplies the sails,
And gives the word to launch; she trembling views
This pomp of death, and parting tears renews;
Last with a kiss, she took a long farewell,
Sigh’d with a sad presage, and swooning fell:
While Ceyx seeks delays, the lusty crew,
Raised on their banks, their oars in order drew
To their broad breasts, the ship with fury flew.
The queen recover’d, rears her humid eyes,
And first her husband on the poop espies,
Shaking his hand at distance on the main;
She took the sign, and shook her hand again:
Still as the ground recedes, contracts her view
With sharpen’d sight, till she no longer knew
The much-loved face; that comfort lost supplies
With less, and with the galley feeds her eyes;
The galley borne from view by rising gales,
She follow’d with her sight the flying sails;
When ev’n the flying sails were seen no more,
Forsaken of all sight she left the shore.
Then on her bridal bed her body throws
And sought in sleep her wearied eyes to close;
Her husband’s pillow, and the widow’d part
Which once he press’d, renew’d the former smart.
And now a breeze from shore began to blow,
The sailors ship their oars, and cease to row,
Then hoist their yards a-trip, and all their sails
Let fall, to court the wind, and catch the gales.
By this the vessel half her course had run,
And as much rested till the rising sun;
Both shores were lost to sight, when at the close
Of day a stiffer gale at east arose:
The sea grew white, the rolling waves from far,
Like heralds, first denounce the watery war.
This seen, the master soon began to cry:
“Strike, strike the topsail, let the mainsheet fly,
And furl your sails:” the winds repel the sound,
And in the speaker’s mouth the speech is drown’d.
Yet of their own accord, as danger taught
Each in his way, officiously they wrought;
Some stow their oars, or stop the leaky sides;
Another bolder, yet the yard bestrides,
And folds the sails; a fourth with labour laves
The intruding seas, and waves ejects on waves.
In this confusion, while their work they ply,
The winds augment the winter of the sky,
And wage intestine wars, the suffering seas
Are toss’d, and mingled, as their tyrants please.
The master would command, but, in despair
Of safety, stands amazed with stupid care;
Nor what to bid, or what forbid he knows,
The ungovern’d tempest to such fury grows:
Vain is his force, and vainer is his skill,
With such a concourse comes the flood of ill;
The cries of men are mix’d with rattling shrouds,
Seas dash on seas, and clouds encounter clouds;
At once from east to west, from pole to pole,
The forky lightnings flash, the roaring thunders roll.
Now waves on waves ascending scale the skies,
And in the fires above the water fries;
When yellow sands are sifted from below,
The glittering billows give a golden show;
And when the fouler bottom spews the black,
The Stygian die the tainted waters take;
Then frothy white appear the flatted seas,
And change their colour, changing their disease.
Like various fits the Trachin vessel finds;
And now sublime, she rides upon the winds;
As from a lofty summit looks from high,
And from the clouds beholds the nether sky;
Now from the depth of hell they lift their sight,
And at a distance see superior light;
The lashing billows make a loud report,
And beat her sides, as battering rams a fort;
Or as a lion bounding in his way,
With force augmented, bears against his prey,
Sidelong to seize, or unappall’d with fear,
Springs on the toils, and rushes on the spear;
So seas impell’d by winds, with added power
Assault the sides, and o’er the hatches tower.
The planks (their pitchy covering wash’d away)
Now yield, and now a yawning breach display;
The roaring waters with a hostile tide
Rush through the ruins of her gaping side
Meantime in sheets of rain the sky descends,
And ocean swell’d with waters upward tends;
One rising, falling one, the heavens and sea
Meet at their confines, in the middle way:
The sails are drunk with showers, and drop with rain;
Sweet waters mingle with the briny main;
No star appears to lend his friendly light;
Darkness and tempest make a double night;
But flashing fires disclose the deep by turns,
And while the lightnings blaze, the water burns.
Now all the waves their scatter’d force unite,
And, as a soldier foremost in the fight,
Make way for others, and a host alone
Still presses on, and urging gains the town;
So, while the invading billows come abreast,
The hero tenth advanced before the rest,
Sweeps all before him with impetuous sway,
And from the walls descends upon the prey;
Part following enter, part remain without,
With envy hear their fellows’ conquering shout,
And mount on others’ backs, in hopes to share
The city, thus become the seat of war.
A universal cry resounds aloud,
The sailors run in heaps, a helpless crowd;
Art fails, and courage fails, no succour near;
As many waves, as many deaths appear:
One weeps, and yet despairs of late relief;
One cannot weep, his fears congeal his grief,
But, stupid, with dry eyes expects his fate;
One with loud shrieks laments his lost estate,
And calls those happy, whom their funerals wait:
This wretch with prayers and vows the gods implores,
And ev’n the skies he cannot see, adores:
That other, on his friends his thoughts bestows,
His careful father, and his faithful spouse;
The covetous worldling, in his anxious mind,
Thinks only on the wealth he left behind.
All Ceyx his Alcyone employs,
For her he grieves, yet in her absence joys;
His wife he wishes, and would still be near,
Not her with him, but wishes him with her:
Now with last looks he seeks his native shore,
Which fate has destined him to see no more;
He sought, but, in the dark tempestuous night,
He knew not whither to direct his sight;
So whirl the seas, such darkness blinds the sky,
That the black night receives a deeper dye.
The giddy ship ran round, the tempest tore
Her mast, and overboard the rudder bore;
One billow mounts, and with a scornful brow,
Proud of her conquest gain’d, insults the waves below;
Nor lighter falls, than if some giant tore
Pindus and Athos with the freight they bore,
And toss’d on seas, press’d with the ponderous blow,
Down sinks the ship within the abyss below;
Down with the vessel sink into the main
The many, never more to rise again.
Some few on scatter’d planks, with fruitless care,
Lay hold, and swim, but while they swim despair.
Ev’n he who late a sceptre did command,
Now grasps a floating fragment in his hand;
And while he struggles on the stormy main,
Invokes his father, and his wife’s, in vain.
But yet his consort is his greatest care,
Alcyone he names amid his prayer;
Names as a charm against the waves and wind;
Most in his mouth, and ever in his mind.
Tired with his toil, all hopes of safety pass’d,
From pray’rs to wishes he descends at last,
That his dead body, wafted to the sands,
Might have its burial from her friendly hands.
As oft as he can catch a gulp of air,
And peep above the seas, he names the fair;
And ev’n when plunged beneath, on her he raves,
Murmuring Alcyone below the waves:
At last a falling billow stops, his breath,
Breaks o’er his head, and whelms him underneath.
Bright Lucifer unlike himself appears
That night, his heavenly form obscured with tears,
And since he was forbid to leave the skies,
He muffled with a cloud his mournful eyes.
Meantime Alcyone (his fate unknown)
Computes how many nights he had been gone:
Observes the waning moon with hourly view,
Numbers her age, and wishes for a new;
Against the promised time provides with care,
And hastens in the woof the robes he was to wear;
And for herself employs another loom,
New dress’d to meet her lord returning home,
Flattering her heart with joys that never were to come:
She fumed the temples with an odorous flame,
And oft before the sacred altars came,
To pray for him, who was an empty name.
All powers implored, but far above the rest
To Juno she her pious vows address’d,
Her much-loved lord from perils to protect,
And safe o’er seas his voyage to direct:
Then pray’d, that she might still possess his heart,
And no pretending rival share a part.
This last petition heard of all her prayer,
The rest, dispersed by winds, were lost in air.
But she, the goddess of the nuptial bed,
Tired with her vain devotions for the dead,
Resolved the tainted hand should be repell’d,
Which incense offer’d, and her altar held.
Then Iris thus bespoke: “Thou faithful maid,
By whom thy queen’s commands are well convey’d,
Haste to the house of sleep, and bid the god,
Who rules the night by visions with a nod,
Prepare a dream, in figure and in form
Resembling him who perish’d in the storm:
This form before Alcyone present,
To make her certain of the sad event.”
Indued with robes of various hue, she flies,
And flying draws an arch, (a segment of the skies,)
Then leaves her bending bow, and from the steep
Descends, to search the silent house of sleep.
Near the Cimmerians, in his dark abode,
Deep in a cavern dwells the drowsy god,
Whose gloomy mansion nor the rising sun,
Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon:
But lazy vapours round the region fly,
Perpetual twilight, and a doubtful sky;
No crowing cock does there his wings display,
Nor with his horny bill provoke the day,
Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese,
Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace,
Nor beast of nature, nor the tame are nigh,
Nor trees with tempests rock’d, nor human cry,
But safe repose, without an air of breath,
Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death.
An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow
Arising upward from the rock below,
The palace moats, and o’er the pebbles creeps,
And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps.
Around its entry nodding poppies grow,
And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow;
Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains,
And, passing, sheds it on the silent plains.
No door there was, the unguarded house to keep,
On creaking hinges turn’d, to break his sleep.
But in the gloomy court was raised a bed,
Stuff’d with black plumes, and on an ebon ’sted;
Black was the covering too, where lay the god,
And slept supine, his limbs display’d abroad;
About his head fantastic visions fly,
Which various images of things supply,
And mock their forms, the leaves on trees not more,
Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the shore.
The virgin entering bright, indulged the day
To the brown cave, and brush’d the dreams away,
The god, disturb’d with this new glare of light,
Cast sudden on his face, unseal’d his sight,
And raised his tardy head, which sunk again,
And, sinking, on his bosom knock’d his chin;
At length shook off himself, and ask’d the dame
(And asking yawn’d) for what intent she came.
To whom the goddess thus: “Oh sacred rest,
Sweet pleasing sleep, of all the powers the best!
Oh peace of mind! repairer of decay!
Whose balms renew the limbs to labours of the day,
Care shuns thy soft approach, and sullen flies away!
Adorn a dream, expressing human form,
The shape of him who suffer’d in the storm,
And send it flitting to the Trachin court,
The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report;
Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand,
Who begs a vain relief at Juno’s hand.”
She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep,
Unable to support the fumes of sleep,
But fled, returning by the way she went,
And swerved along her bow with swift ascent.
The god, uneasy till he slept again,
Resolved at once to rid himself of pain;
And, though against his custom, call’d aloud,
Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd;
Morpheus, of all his numerous train, express’d
The shape of man, and imitated best;
The walk, the words, the gesture, could supply,
The habit mimic, and the mien bely;
Plays well, but all his action is confined,
Extending not beyond our humankind.
Another, birds, and beasts, and dragons apes,
And dreadful images, and monster shapes;
This demon, Icelos, in heaven’s high hall,
The gods have named, but men Phobetor call.
A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll
On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of soul;
Earth, fruits, and flowers, he represents in dreams,
And solid rocks unmoved, and running streams.
These three to kings and chiefs their scenes display,
The rest before the ignoble commons play.
Of these the chosen Morpheus is despatch’d,
Which done, the lazy monarch, overwatch’d,
Down from his propping elbow drops his head,
Dissolved in sleep, and shrinks within his bed.
Darkling the demon glides, for flight prepared,
So soft, that scarce his fanning wings are heard.
To Trachin, swift as thought, the flitting shade
Through air his momentary journey made;
Then lays aside the steerage of his wings,
Forsakes his proper form, assumes the king’s;
And, pale as death, despoil’d of his array,
Into the queen’s apartment takes his way,
And stands before the bed at dawn of day:
Unmoved his eyes, and wet his beard appears,
And shedding vain, but seeming real, tears,
The briny waters dropping from his hairs;
Then, staring on her with a ghastly look,
And hollow voice, he thus the queen bespoke:
“Know’st thou not me? Not yet, unhappy wife?
Or are my features perish’d with my life?
Look once again, and for thy husband lost,
Lo! all that’s left of him, thy husband’s ghost!
Thy vows for my return were all in vain,
The stormy south o’ertook us in the main,
And never shalt thou see thy living lord again.
Bear witness Heaven, I call’d on thee in death,
And, while I call’d, a billow stopp’d my breath.
Think not that flying fame reports my fate,
I present, I appear, and my own wreck relate.
Rise, wretched widow, rise, nor undeplored
Permit my soul to pass the Stygian ford;
But rise, prepared in black, to mourn thy perish’d lord.”
Thus said the player god, and adding art
Of voice and gesture, so perform’d his part,
She thought (so like her love the shade appears)
That Ceyx spoke the words, and Ceyx shed the tears.
She groan’d, her inward soul with grief oppress’d,
She sigh’d, she wept, and, sleeping, beat her breast;
Then stretch’d her arms to embrace his body bare;
Her clasping arms enclose but empty air;
At this, not yet awake, she cried, “Oh stay!
One is our fate, and common is our way!”
So dreadful was the dream, so loud she spoke,
That, starting sudden up, the slumber broke,
Then cast her eyes around, in hope to view
Her vanish’d lord, and find the vision true;
For now the maids, who waited her commands,
Ran in with lighted tapers in their hands.
Tired with the search, not finding what she seeks,
With cruel blows she pounds her blubber’d cheeks;
Then from her beaten breast the linen tear,
And cut the golden caul that bound her hair.
Her nurse demands the cause: with louder cries
She prosecutes her griefs, and thus replies:
“No more Alcyone; she suffered death
With her lov’d lord, when Ceyx lost his breath:
No flattery, no false comfort, give me none,
My shipwreck’d Ceyx is for ever gone.
I saw, I saw him manifest in view,
His voice, his figure, and his gestures knew;
His lustre lost, and every living grace,
Yet I retain’d the features of his face;
Though with pale cheeks, wet beard, and dropping hair,
None but my Ceyx could appear so fair;
I would have strain’d him with a strict embrace,
But through my arms he slipp’d, and vanish’d from the place.
There, ev’n just there, he stood:” and, as she spoke,
Where last the spectre was she cast her look;
Fain would she hope, and gazed upon the ground,
If any printed footsteps might be found.
Then sigh’d, and said, “This I too well foreknew,
And my prophetic fears presaged too true:
’Twas what I begg’d, when with a bleeding heart
I took my leave, and suffer’d thee to part;
Or I to go along, or thou to stay,
Never, ah! never, to divide our way!
Happier for me, that all our hours assign’d
Together we had lived, ev’n not in death disjoin’d!
So had my Ceyx still been living here,
Or with my Ceyx I had perish’d there;
Now I die absent, in the vast profound,
And me, without myself, the seas have drown’d.
The storms were not so cruel: should I strive
To lengthen life, and such a grief survive;
But neither will I strive, nor wretched thee
In death forsake, but keep thee company:
If not one common sepulchre contains
Our bodies, or one urn our last remains,
Yet Ceyx and Alcyone shall join,
Their names remember’d in one common line.”
No further voice her mighty grief affords,
For sighs come rushing in between her words
And stopp’d her tongue; but what her tongue denied,
Soft tears, and groans, and dumb complaints supplied.
’Twas morning: to the port she takes her way,
And stands upon the margin of the sea;
That place, that very spot of ground, she sought,
Or thither by her destiny was brought,
Where last he stood; and while she sadly said:
“ ’Twas here he left me, lingering here delay’d
His parting kiss, and there his anchors weigh’d.”
Thus speaking, while her thoughts past actions trace,
And call to mind, admonish’d by the place,
Sharp at her utmost ken she cast her eyes,
And somewhat floating from afar descries:
It seem’d a corpse adrift to distant sight,
But at a distance who could judge aright?
It wafted nearer yet, and then she knew
That what before she but surmised was true:
A corpse it was, but whose it was unknown;
Yet moved, howe’er, she made the case her own,
Took the bad omen of a shipwreck’d man,
As for a stranger wept, and thus began:
“Poor wretch, on stormy seas to lose thy life:
Unhappy thou, but more thy widow’d wife!”
At this she paused, for now the flowing tide
Had brought the body nearer to the side.
The more she looks, the more her fears increase
At nearer sight, and she’s herself the less.
Now driven ashore, and at her feet it lies,
She knows too much in knowing whom she sees,
Her husband’s corpse; at this she loudly shrieks,
“ ’Tis he! ’tis he!” she cries, and tears her cheeks,
Her hair, and vest; and stooping to the sands,
About his neck she cast her trembling hands.
“And is it thus, oh dearer than my life!
Thus, thus return’st thou to thy longing wife?”
She said, and to the neighbouring mole she strode:
(Raised there to break the incursions of the flood:)
Headlong from hence to plunge herself she springs,
But shoots along, supported on her wings;
A bird new made, about the banks she plies,
Not far from shore, and short excursions tries;
Nor seeks in air her humble flight to raise,
Content to skim the surface of the seas.
Her bill, though slender, sends a creaking noise,
And imitates a lamentable voice.
Now lighting where the bloodless body lies,
She, with a funeral note, renews her cries:
At all her stretch, her little wings she spread,
And with her feather’d arms embraced the dead;
Then flickering to his pallid lips, she strove
To print a kiss, the last essay of love.
Whether the vital touch revived the dead,
Or that the moving waters raised his head
To meet the kiss, the vulgar doubt alone
For sure a present miracle was shown.
The gods their shapes to winter birds translate,
But both obnoxious to their former fate.
Their conjugal affection still is tied,
And still the mournful race is multiplied.
The raging Aeolus at length is kind,
Calms every storm, and hushes every wind;
Prepares his empire for his daughter’s ease,
And for his hatching nephews smoothes the seas.