The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase · Chapter 14The Transformation of Actæon Into a Stag
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In a fair chase a shady mountain stood, Well stored with game, and marked with trails of blood. Here did the huntsmen till the heat of day Pursue the stag, and load themselves with prey; When thus Actæon calling to the rest: 'My friends,' says he, 'our sport is at the best. The sun is high advanced, and downward sheds His burning beams directly on our heads; Then by consent abstain from further spoils, Call off the dogs, and gather up the toils; _10 And ere to-morrow's sun begins his race, Take the cool morning to renew the chase.' They all consent, and in a cheerful train The jolly huntsmen, loaden with the slain, Return in triumph from the sultry plain. Down in a vale with pine and cypress clad, Refreshed with gentle winds, and brown with shade, The chaste Diana's private haunt, there stood Full in the centre of the darksome wood A spacious grotto, all around o'ergrown _20 With hoary moss, and arched with pumice-stone. From out its rocky clefts the waters flow, And trickling swell into a lake below. Nature had everywhere so played her part, That everywhere she seemed to vie with art. Here the bright goddess, toiled and chafed with heat, Was wont to bathe her in the cool retreat. Here did she now with all her train resort, Panting with heat, and breathless from the sport; Her armour-bearer laid her bow aside, _30 Some loosed her sandals, some her veil untied; Each busy nymph her proper part undressed; While Crocale, more handy than the rest, Gathered her flowing hair, and in a noose Bound it together, whilst her own hung loose. Five of the more ignoble sort by turns Fetch up the water, and unlade their urns. Now all undressed the shining goddess stood, When young Actæon, wildered in the wood, To the cool grot by his hard fate betrayed, _40 The fountains filled with naked nymphs surveyed. The frighted virgins shrieked at the surprise, (The forest echoed with their piercing cries,) Then in a huddle round their goddess pressed: She, proudly eminent above the rest, With blushes glowed; such blushes as adorn The ruddy welkin, or the purple morn; And though the crowding nymphs her body hide, Half backward shrunk, and viewed him from aside. Surprised, at first she would have snatched her bow, _50 But sees the circling waters round her flow; These in the hollow of her hand she took, And dashed them in his face, while thus she spoke: 'Tell if thou canst the wondrous sight disclosed, A goddess naked to thy view exposed.' This said, the man began to disappear By slow degrees, and ended in a deer. A rising horn on either brow he wears, And stretches out his neck, and pricks his ears; Rough is his skin, with sudden hairs o'ergrown, _60 His bosom pants with fears before unknown. Transformed at length, he flies away in haste, And wonders why he flies away so fast. But as by chance, within a neighbouring brook, He saw his branching horns and altered look, Wretched Actæon! in a doleful tone He tried to speak, but only gave a groan; And as he wept, within the watery glass He saw the big round drops, with silent pace, Run trickling down a savage hairy face. _70 What should he do? Or seek his old abodes, Or herd among the deer, and skulk in woods? Here shame dissuades him, there his fear prevails, And each by turns his aching heart assails. As he thus ponders, he behind him spies His opening hounds, and now he hears their cries: A generous pack, or to maintain the chase, Or snuff the vapour from the scented grass. He bounded off with fear, and swiftly ran O'er craggy mountains, and the flowery plain; _80 Through brakes and thickets forced his way, and flew Through many a ring, where once he did pursue. In vain he oft endeavoured to proclaim His new misfortune, and to tell his name; Nor voice nor words the brutal tongue supplies; From shouting men, and horns, and dogs he flies, Deafened and stunned with their promiscuous cries. When now the fleetest of the pack, that pressed Close at his heels, and sprung before the rest, Had fastened on him, straight another pair _90 Hung on his wounded haunch, and held him there, Till all the pack came up, and every hound Tore the sad huntsman, grovelling on the ground, Who now appeared but one continued wound. With dropping tears his bitter fate he moans, And fills the mountain with his dying groans. His servants with a piteous look he spies, And turns about his supplicating eyes. His servants, ignorant of what had chanced, With eager haste and joyful shouts advanced, _100 And called their lord Actæon to the game: He shook his head in answer to the name; He heard, but wished he had indeed been gone, Or only to have stood a looker-on. But, to his grief, he finds himself too near, And feels his ravenous dogs with fury tear Their wretched master, panting in a deer.