The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase · Chapter 15The Birth of Bacchus
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Actæon's sufferings, and Diana's rage, Did all the thoughts of men and gods engage; Some called the evils which Diana wrought, Too great, and disproportioned to the fault: Others, again, esteemed Actæon's woes Fit for a virgin goddess to impose. The hearers into different parts divide, And reasons are produced on either side. Juno alone, of all that heard the news, Nor would condemn the goddess, nor excuse: _10 She heeded not the justice of the deed, But joyed to see the race of Cadmus bleed; For still she kept Europa in her mind, And, for her sake, detested all her kind. Besides, to aggravate her hate, she heard How Semele, to Jove's embrace preferred, Was now grown big with an immortal load, And carried in her womb a future god. Thus terribly incensed, the goddess broke To sudden fury, and abruptly spoke. _20 'Are my reproaches of so small a force? 'Tis time I then pursue another course: It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die, If I'm indeed the mistress of the sky; If rightly styled among the powers above The wife and sister of the thundering Jove, (And none can sure a sister's right deny,) It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die. She boasts an honour I can hardly claim; Pregnant, she rises to a mother's name; _30 While proud and vain she triumphs in her Jove, And shows the glorious tokens of his love: But if I'm still the mistress of the skies, By her own lover the fond beauty dies.' This said, descending in a yellow cloud, Before the gates of Semele she stood. Old Beroe's decrepit shape she wears, Her wrinkled visage, and her hoary hairs; Whilst in her trembling gait she totters on, And learns to tattle in the nurse's tone. _40 The goddess, thus disguised in age, beguiled With pleasing stories her false foster-child. Much did she talk of love, and when she came To mention to the nymph her lover's name, Fetching a sigh, and holding down her head, ''Tis well,' says she, 'if all be true that's said; But trust me, child, I'm much inclined to fear Some counterfeit in this your Jupiter. Many an honest, well-designing maid, Has been by these pretended gods betrayed. _50 But if he be indeed the thundering Jove, Bid him, when next he courts the rites of love, Descend, triumphant from the ethereal sky, In all the pomp of his divinity; Encompassed round by those celestial charms, With which he fills the immortal Juno's arms.' The unwary nymph, insnared with what she said, Desired of Jove, when next he sought her bed, To grant a certain gift which she would choose; 'Fear not,' replied the god, 'that I'll refuse _60 Whate'er you ask: may Styx confirm my voice, Choose what you will, and you shall have your choice.' 'Then,' says the nymph, 'when next you seek my arms, May you descend in those celestial charms, With which your Juno's bosom you inflame, And fill with transport heaven's immortal dame.' The god surprised, would fain have stopped her voice: But he had swrorn, and she had made her choice. To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds; _70 Whilst all around, in terrible array, His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play. And yet, the dazzling lustre to abate, He set not out in all his pomp and state, Clad in the mildest lightning of the skies, And armed with thunder of the smallest size: Not those huge bolts, by which the giants slain, Lay overthrown on the Phlegræan plain. Twas of a lesser mould, and lighter weight; They call it thunder of a second-rate. _80 For the rough Cyclops, who by Jove's command Tempered the bolt, and turned it to his hand, Worked up less flame and fury in its make, And quenched it sooner in the standing lake. Thus dreadfully adorned, with horror bright, The illustrious god, descending from his height, Came rushing on her in a storm of light. The mortal dame, too feeble to engage The lightning's flashes and the thunder's rage, Consumed amidst the glories she desired, _90 And in the terrible embrace expired. But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb, Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb; And, if on ancient tales we may rely, Enclosed the abortive infant in his thigh. Here, when the babe had all his time fulfilled, Ino first took him for her foster-child; Then the Niseans, in their dark abode, Nursed secretly with milk the thriving god.