Through his vaft bulk the gliding flumbers creep,
And feal down all his glaring eyes in fleep.
There lies a place in Greece well known to fame,
Through all her realms, and Tænarus the name,
Where from the sea the tops of Malea rise,
Beyond the ken of mortals, to the skies:
Proud in his height he calmly hears below.
The distant winds in hollow murmurs blow.
Here fleep the storms when weary'd and oppreft,
And on his head the drowsy planets rest:
There in blue mifts his rocky fides he fhrouds,
And here the towering mountain props the clouds;
Above his awful brow no bird can fly,
And far beneath the muttering thunders die.
When down the steep of heaven the day descends,
The fun fo wide his floating bound extends,
That o'er the deeps the mountain hangs display'd,
And covers half the ocean with his fhade:
Where the Tænarian fhores oppose the sea,
The land retreats, and winds into a bay.
Here for repofe imperial Neptune leads,
Tir'd from th' Egean floods, his fmoaking steeds;
With their broad hoofs they scoop the beach away,
Their finny train rolls back, and floats along the sea,
Here fame reports th' unbody'd shades to go
Through this wide paffage to the realins below.
From hence the peafants (as th' Arcadians tell)
Hear all the cries, and groans, and din of hell.
Oft, as her fcourge of fnakes the fury plies,
The piercing echoes mount the dilant kics;
Scar'd at the porter's triple roar, the fwains
Have fled aftonish'd, and forfook the plains.
From hence emergent in a mantling cloud
Sprung to his native skies the winged God.
Swift from his face before th' ethereal ray,
Flew all the black Tartarean ftains away,
And the dark Stygian gloom refin'd to day.
O'er towns and realms he held his progress on,
Now wing'd the skies where bright Arcturus fhone,
And now the filent empire of the moon.
The power of fleep, who met his radiant flight,
And drove the folemn chariot of the night,
Rofe with respect, and from th' empyreal road
Turn'd his pale steeds, in reverence to the God.
The fhade beneath purfues his courfe, and spies
The well-known planets, and congenial skies.
His eyes from far, tall Cyrrha's heights explore,
And Phocian fields polluted with his gore.
At length to Thebes he came, and with a groan
Survey'd the guilty palace once his own;
With awful filence stalk'd before the gate,
But when he saw the trophies of his fate,
High on a column rais'd against the door,
And his rich chariot ftill deform'd with gore,
He starts with horror back; ev'n Jove's command
Could scarce control him, nor the vital wand.
'Twas now the folemn day; when Jove, array'd
In all his thunders, grafp'd the Theban maid:
Then took from blafted Semele her load,
And in himself conceiv'd the future God.
For this the Thebans revel'd in delight,
And gave to play and luxury the night;
A national debauch! confus'd they lie
Stretch'd o'er the fields, their canopy the sky.
The sprightly trumpets found, the timbrels play,
And wake with facred harmony the day.
The matron's breaft the gracious power infpires
With milder raptures, and with softer fires.
So the Bistonian race, a madding train,
Exult and revel on the Thracian plain;
With milk their bloody banquets they allay,
Or from the lion rend his panting prey;
On fome abandon'd favage fiercely fly,
Seize, tear, devour, and think it luxury.
But if the rifing fumes of wine confpire
To warm their rage, and fan the brutal fire,
Then scenes of horror are their dear delight,
They whirl the goblets, and provoke the fight:
Then on the flain the revel is renew'd
And all the horrid banquet floats in blood.
And now the winged Hermes from on high Shot in deep filence from the dusky sky; Then hover'd o'er the Theban tyrant's head, As ftretch'd at cafe he preft his gorgeous bed Where labour'd tapestry from fide to fide, Glow'd with rich figures, and Affyrian pride. Oh! the precarious terms of human state! How blind is man! how thoughtless of his fate! See! through his limbs the dews of flumber creep, Sunk as he lies, in luxury and fleep.
The reverend fhade commiffion'd from above,
Haftes to fulfill the high behefts of Jove:
Like blind Tirefias to the bed he came,
In form, in habit, and in voice the fame.
Pale, as before, the phantom still appear'd,
Down his wan bofom flow'd a length of beard;
His head an imitated fillet wore,
His hand a wreath of peaceful olive bore:
With this he touch'd the fleeping monarch's breaft,
And in his own, the voice of fate, expreft.
Then canft thou fleep, to thoughtlefs reft refign'd?
And drive thy brother's image from thy mind?
Yon gathering ftorm demands thy timely care,
See! how it rolls this way the tide of war.
When o'er the feas the fweeping whirlwinds fly,
And roar from every quarter of the sky;
The pilot, in defpair the fhip to fave,
Gives up the helm, a fport to every wave:
Such is thy error, and thy fate the fame
(For know, I fpeak the common voice of fame).
Proud in his new alliances, from far
Against thy realm he meditates the war;
Big with ambitious hopes to reign alone,
And fwell unrival'd on the Theban throne.
New figns and fatal prodigies infpire
His mad ambition, with his boasted fire;
And Argos' ample realms in dower bestow'd,
And Tydeus reeking from his brother's blood,
League and confpire to raise him to the throne,
And make his tedious banishment thy own.
For this, with pity touch'd, Almighty Jove,
The fire of Gods, dispatch'd me from above.
Be ftill a monarch; let him fwell in vain
With a gay prospect of a fancy'd reign:
Still let him hope by fraud, or by the sword,
To humble Thebes beneath a foreign lord.
Thus the majestic ghost; but ere he fled,
He pluck'd the wreaths and fillets from his head.
For now the fickening ftars were chac'd away,
And heaven's immortal courfers breath'd the day.
Awful to fight confest the grandfire stood,
Bared his wide wound, and all his bofom fhow'd,
Then dash'd the sleeping monarch with his blood.
With a distracted air, and fudden spring,
Starts from his broken fleep the trembling king.
Shakes off amaz'd th' imaginary gore,
While fancy paints the scene he saw before:
Deep in his foul his grandfire's image wrought,
And all his brother rofe in every thought.
So while the toils are spread, and from behind
The hunter's shouts come thickening in the wind
The tiger starts from sleep the war to wage,
Collects his powers, and roufes all his rage:
Sternly he grinds his fangs, he weighs his might,
And whets his dreadful talons for the fight;
Then to his young he bears his foe away,
His foe, at once the chacer and the prey,
Thus on his brother he in every thought,
Waged future wars, and battles yet unfought.
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