THE STORY OF CEPHISA.
In western climes, where the bright god of Day Darts on the gladsome earth å warmer ray, While smiling Spring led on the jocund hours, And early months bestrew'd the fields with flowers, In bloom of youth, Cephisa, lovely maid! [stray'd; Trac'd the wide lawns, and through the forests Not all thy nymphs who swell Diana's train, From Cynthus' top, when issuing on the plain, With hound and horn they raise the cheerful cry, And the rocks echo and the floods reply; Not all their train for beauty could compare, Their goddess' self scarce like Cephisa fair.- Struck with the sight of such transcendent charms, With gifts the shepherds woo'd her to their arms. The amorous toys no grace nor favour gain'd, The gifts and givers she alike disdain'd, Resolv'd in happy solitude to rove A silvan huntress through the leafy grove.
But envious Fate the nymph no respite gives, In every heart her lov'd idea lives; Ev'n Pan himself, with ardent passion fir'd, The god of Woods, the woodland nymph desir'd; Still as he views, he pants to clasp the maid, And, softly sighing, to himself he said;
O happy winds! which kiss that snowy breast, O happy garments! which those limbs invest; But happier he who gains so rich a prize, Pants in those arms, and on that bosom dies!'
Thus he;-the nymph far other loves employ, The chase her glory, and the woods her joy: Oft as the god is present to her sight, So oft the nymph prepares for sudden flight, Eludes his search, swift skimming o'er the lawn, As from the beagle flies the bounding fawn.
A bower there was, a close sequester'd shade, By poplar boughs and twining osiers made, Fast by whose side a crystal fountain flow'd, (The banks with flowers of various colours glow'd) Here oft at noon the weary fair reclin'd, To court the coolness of the gentle wind; For here soft zephyr with a grateful breeze [trees. Kiss'd the young plants, and whisper'd through the
It chanc'd that Pan had mark'd the pebbled bed, Where the stream issued from its fountain-head, Thence pouring on, through mossy windings roll'd, O'er fertile tracks, and sands that glow'd with gold; Its course the god with curious search pursued, Till pleas'd, at length, the fragrant bower he view'ds But far more pleas'd the beauteous nymph survey'd, Stretch'd at her ease beneath the cooling shade. His near approach the pensive nymph alarms, Who rises hasty, with disorder'd charms, Springs from her covert like the timorous hare, And, flying, fills with shrieks the ambient air. With wings of love Pan urges on the course ; Fear lends her strength, while Love supplies his Yet oft the god, in the mid chase, delays, [force; Stops short of conquest, and submissive prays; "O thou! (he cries) the loveliest of thy kind, Why fly'st thou thus, and leav'st thy love behind? No savage foe, no plunderer is near, Nor mountain-robber with his dreadful spear;
Nor mean am I, though woods my lineage claim, My sire immortal, and myself the same; Nor on the crook nor plough do I depend, Nor on the mountain's top a scanty flock attend; Pan is my name;-the herds on yonder plains My herbage fattens, and my care sustains; To me the woodland-empire is decreed; I claim the' invention of the vocal reed: Yet vain these arts, these gifts in vain bestow'd, Great as I am, and worship'd as a god, If thou, bright Nymph! with coyness and disdain Repay thy lover, and deride his pain."
Thus urg'd the silvan god his amorous pray'r, But all his words were lost in empty air. With double speed the nymph her course renew'd, With double speed the ravisher pursued; O'er hills and dales they hold their rapid race, Till, spent at length, and wearied with the chase, With secret dread she views the sun descend, And Twilight o'er the earth her veil extend; For now the swift pursuer nearer drew, And almost touch'd her garments as she flew; Wheel'd as she wheel'd, on every footstep gain'd, And no relief nor glimpse of hope remain'd. Fast by a stream an ancient altar stood, And close behind it rose a wavy wood, Whose twining boughs exclude the parting light, And dusky shades anticipate the night; Thither, collecting all her force, she flies, And, "Oh! whatever god (the damsel cries) Protects this altar; may that generous pow'r Hear and relieve me in this dangerous hour; Give me at least to save my spotless fame, And still in death preserve a virgin's name."
While thus to unknown powers Cephisa pray'd,
Victorious Pan o'ertook the fainting maid: Around her waist his eager arms he throws, With love and joy his throbbing bosom glows; When, wonderful to tell, her form receives A verdant covering of expanded leaves; Then shooting downward trembling to the ground, A fibrous root her slender ankles bound. Strange to herself, as yet, aghast she stands, And to high Heaven she rears her spotless hands; These, while she spreads them, still in spires extend, Till in small leaves her taper fingers end: Her voice she tries, but utterance is denied, The smother'd sounds in hollow murmurs died. At length, quite chang'd, the god with wonder
A beauteous plant arising where she stood; This from his touch, with human sense inspir'd,
Indignant shrinking, of itself retir'd: Yet Pan attends it with a lover's cares,
And fostering aid with tender hand prepares; The new-form'd plant reluctant seems to yield, And lives the grace and glory of the field.
But still, as mindful of her former state,
The nymph's perfections on her change await, And though transform'd, her virtue still remains, No touch impure her sacred plant sustains,
From whence the name of Sensitive it gains. This oft the nymphs approach with secret dread, While crimson blushes o'er their cheeks are spread;
Yet the true virgin has no cause for fear,
The test is equal, if the maid's sincere.
This in thy walks, O-, is found,
Thy walks, for virgins fair and chaste renown'd:
This from the mild Hesperian clime convey'd, Shall ever bloom, 0 W! in thy shade; Yet western nymphs thy wondrous tree avoid, Lest all their hopes be by a touch destroy'd. Britannia's daughters no such terrors know; With no lewd flames their spotless bosoms glow: Though every shrub our cultur'd gardens boast, And all of foreign stock, a countless host, Should all at once the precious gift receive, And every plant become a Sensitive; Yet should their fame the dreadful trial stand, And add new honours to their native land; Honours their latest progeny shall share, For ever virtuous, as for ever fair.
DESIGNED FOR THE PASTORAL TRAGEDY OF 'DIONE."
THERE was a time (O were those days renew'd!) Ere tyrant laws had woman's will subdued; Then Nature rul'd, and Love, devoid of art, Spoke the consenting language of the heart. Love uncontroll'd; insipid, poor delight! 'Tis the restraint that whets our appetite. Behold the beasts who range the forests free, Behold the birds who fly from tree to tree; In their amours see Nature's power appear! And do they love? Yes-One month in the year. Were these the pleasures of the Golden reign? And did free Nature thus instruct the swain?
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