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APOLLOS wrath to man the dreadful spring | |
Of ills innumrous, tuneful goddess, sing! | |
Thou who didst first th ideal pencil give, | |
And taughtst the painter in his works to live, | |
Inspire with glowing energy of thought, | 5 |
What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote. | |
Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain, | |
Tho last and meanest of the rhyming train! | |
O guide my pen in lofty strains to show | |
The Phrygian queen, all beautiful in woe. | 10 |
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Twas where Mæonia spreads her wide domain | |
Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign: | |
See in her hand the regal sceptre shine, | |
The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine, | |
He most distinguishd by Dodonean Jove, | 15 |
To approach the tables of the gods above: | |
Her grandsire Atlas, who with mighty pains | |
Th ethereal axis on his neck sustains: | |
Her other gran sire on the throne on high | |
Rolls the loud-pealing thunder thro the sky. | 20 |
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Her spouse, Amphion, who from Jove too springs, | |
Divinely taught to sweep the sounding strings. | |
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Seven sprightly sons the royal bed adorn, | |
Seven daughters beauteous as the opning morn, | |
As when Aurora fills the ravishd sight, | 25 |
And decks the orient realms with rosy light | |
From their bright eyes the living splendors play, | |
Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray. | |
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Wherever, Niobe, thou turnst thine eyes, | |
New beauties kindle, and new joys arise! | 30 |
But thou hadst far the happier mother provd, | |
If this fair offspring had been less belovd: | |
What if their charms exceed Auroras teint, | |
No words could tell them, and no pencil paint, | |
Thy love too vehement hastens to destroy | 35 |
Each blooming maid, and each celestial boy. | |
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Now Manto comes, endud with mighty skill, | |
The past to explore, the future to reveal. | |
Thro Thebes wide streets Tiresias daughter came, | |
Divine Latonas mandate to proclaim: | 40 |
The Theban maids to hear the orders ran, | |
When thus Mæonias prophetess began: | |
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Go, Thebans! great Latonas will obey, | |
And pious tribute at her altars pay: | |
With rights divine, the goddess be implord, | 45 |
Nor be her sacred offspring unadord. | |
Thus Manto spoke. The Theban maids obey, | |
And pious tribute to the goddess pay. | |
The rich perfumes ascend in waving spires, | |
And altars blaze with consecrated fires; | 50 |
The fair assembly moves with graceful air, | |
And leaves of laurel bind the flowing hair. | |
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Niobe comes with all her royal race, | |
With charms unnumberd, and superior grace: | |
Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue, | 55 |
Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view, | |
Beyond description beautiful she moves | |
Like heavnly Venus, midst her smiles and loves: | |
She views around the supplicating train, | |
And shakes her graceful head with stern disdain, | 60 |
Proudly she turns around her lofty eyes, | |
And thus reviles celestial deities: | |
What madness drives the Theban ladies fair | |
To give their incense to surrounding air? | |
Say why this new sprung deity preferrd? | 65 |
Why vainly fancy your petitions heard? | |
Or say why Cus offspring is obeyd, | |
While to my goddesship no tributes paid? | |
For me no altars blaze with living fires, | |
No bullock bleeds, no frankincense transpires, | 70 |
Tho Cadmus palace, not unknown to fame, | |
And Phrygian nations all revere my name. | |
Whereer I turn my eyes vast wealth I find. | |
Lo! here an empress with a goddess joind. | |
What, shall a Titaness be deifyd, | 75 |
To whom the spacious earth a couch denyd? | |
Nor heavn, nor earth, nor sea receivd your queen, | |
Till pitying Delos took the wandrer in. | |
Round me what a large progeny is spread! | |
No frowns of fortune has my soul to dread. | 80 |
What if indignant she decrease my train | |
More than Latonas number will remain? | |
Then hence, ye Theban dames, hence haste away, | |
Nor longer offrings to Latona pay? | |
Regard the orders of Amphions spouse, | 85 |
And take the leaves of laurel from your brows. | |
Niobe spoke. The Theban maids obeyd, | |
Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid. | |
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The angry goddess heard, then silence broke | |
On Cynthus summit, and indignant spoke; | 90 |
Phbus! behold, thy mother in disgrace, | |
Who to no goddess yields the prior place | |
Except to Junos self, who reigns above, | |
The spouse and sister of the thundring Jove. | |
Niobe sprung from Tantalus inspires | 95 |
Each Theban bosom with rebellious fires; | |
No reason her imperious temper quells, | |
But all her father in her tongue rebels; | |
Wrap her own sons for her blaspheming breath, | |
Apollo! wrap them in the shades of death. | 100 |
Latona ceasd, and ardent thus replies, | |
The God, whose glory decks th expanded skies. | |
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Cease thy complaints, mine be the task assignd | |
To punish pride, and scourge the rebel mind. | |
This Phbe joind.They wing their instant flight; | 105 |
Thebes trembled as th immortal powrs alight. | |
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With clouds incompassd glorious Phbus stands; | |
The featherd vengeance quivring in his hands. | |
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Near Cadmus walls a plain extended lay, | |
Where Thebes young princes passd in sport the day: | 110 |
There the bold coursers bounded oer the plains, | |
While their great masters held the golden reins. | |
Ismenus first the racing pastime led, | |
And ruld the fury of his flying steed. | |
Ah me, he sudden cries, with shrieking breath, | 115 |
While in his breast he feels the shaft of death; | |
He drops the bridle on his coursers mane, | |
Before his eyes in shadows swims the plain, | |
He, the first-born of great Amphions bed, | |
Was struck the first, first mingled with the dead. | 120 |
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Then didst thou, Sipylus, the language hear | |
Of fate portentous whistling in the air: | |
As when th impending storm the sailor sees | |
He spreads his canvas to the favring breeze, | |
So to thine horse thou gavst the golden reins, | 125 |
Gavst him to rush impetuous oer the plains: | |
But ah! a fatal shaft from Phbus hand | |
Smites through thy neck, and sinks thee on the sand. | |
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Two other brothers were at wrestling found, | |
And in their pastime claspt each other round: | 130 |
A shaft that instant from Apollos hand | |
Transfixt them both, and stretcht them on the sand: | |
Together they their cruel fate bemoand, | |
Together languishd, and together groand: | |
Together too th unbodied spirits fled, | 135 |
And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead. | |
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Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view, | |
Beat his torn breast, that changd its snowy hue. | |
He flies to raise them in a kind embrace; | |
A brothers fondness triumphs in his face: | 140 |
Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed, | |
A dart dispatchd him (so the fates decreed:) | |
Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound, | |
His issuing entrails smoakd upon the ground. | |
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What woes on blooming Damasichon wait! | 145 |
His sighs portend his near impending fate. | |
Just where the well-made leg begins to be, | |
And the soft sinews form the supple knee, | |
The youth sore wounded by the Delian god | |
Attempts t extract the crime-avenging rod, | 150 |
But, whilst he strives the will of fate t avert, | |
Divine Apollo sends a second dart; | |
Swift thro his throat the featherd mischief flies, | |
Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies. | |
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Young Ilioneus, the last, directs his prayr, | 155 |
And cries, My life, ye gods celestial! spare. | |
Apollo heard, and pity touchd his heart, | |
But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart: | |
Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doomd to fall, | |
The fates refuse that arrow to recal. | 160 |
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On the swift wings of ever-flying Fame | |
To Cadmus palace soon the tidings came: | |
Niobe heard, and with indignant eyes | |
She thus expressd her anger and surprize: | |
Why is such privilege to them allowd? | 165 |
Why thus insulted by the Delian god? | |
Dwells there such mischief in the powrs above? | |
Why sleeps the vengeance of immortal Jove? | |
For now Amphion too, with grief oppressd, | |
Had plungd the deadly dagger in his breast. | 170 |
Niobe now, less haughty than before, | |
With lofty head directs her steps no more. | |
She, who late told her pedigree divine, | |
And drove the Thebans from Latonas shrine, | |
How strangely changd!yet beautiful in woe, | 175 |
She weeps, nor weeps unpityd by the foe. | |
On each pale corse the wretched mother spread | |
Lay overwhelmd with grief, and kissd her dead, | |
Then raisd her arms, and thus, in accents slow, | |
Be sated cruel Goddess! with my woe; | 180 |
If Ive offended, let these streaming eyes, | |
And let this sevnfold funeral suffice: | |
Ah! take this wretched life you deignd to save, | |
With them I too am carried to the grave. | |
Rejoice triumphant, my victorious foe, | 185 |
But show the cause from whence your triumphs flow? | |
Tho I unhappy mourn these children slain, | |
Yet greater numbers to my lot remain. | |
She ceasd, the bow-string twangd with awful sound, | |
Which struck with terror all th assembly round, | 190 |
Except the queen, who stood unmovd alone, | |
By her distresses more presumptuous grown. | |
Near the pale corses stood their sisters fair | |
In sable vestures and dishevelld hair; | |
One, while she draws the fatal shaft away, | 195 |
Faints, falls, and sickens at the light of day. | |
To sooth her mother, lo! another flies, | |
And blames the fury of inclement skies, | |
And, while her words a filial pity show, | |
Struck dumbindignant seeks the shades below. | 200 |
Now from the fatal place another flies, | |
Falls in her flight, and languishes, and dies. | |
Another on her sister drops in death; | |
A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath; | |
While the sixth seeks some gloomy cave in vain, | 205 |
Struck with the rest, and mingled with the slain. | |
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One only daughter lives, and she the least; | |
The queen close claspd the daughter to her breast: | |
Ye heavnly powrs, ah spare me one, she cryd, | |
Ah! spare me one, the vocal hills replyd: | 210 |
In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny, | |
In her embrace she sees her daughter die. | |
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1The queen of all her family bereft, | |
Without or husband, son, or daughter left, | |
Grew stupid at the shock. The passing air | 215 |
Made no impression on her stiffning hair. | |
The blood forsook her face: amidst the flood | |
Pourd from her cheeks, quite fixd her eye-balls stood. | |
Her tongue, her palate both obdurate grew, | |
Her curdled veins no longer motion knew; | 220 |
The use of neck, and arms, and feet was gone, | |
And evn her bowels hardned into stone: | |
A marble statue now the queen appears, | |
But from the marble steal the silent tears. | |