THE EDUCATION OF ACHILLES.
BY MR. BEDINGFIELD.
AH, mc! is all our pleafure mix'd with woe!
Is there on earth no happiness fincere ?
Muft e'en this bitter ftream of forrow flow
From joy's domeftick fpring, our children dèar?
How oft did Thetis drop the filver tear,
When with fond eyes fhe view'd her darling boy!
How oft her breaft heav'd with prefaging fear,
Left Vice's fecret canker fhould annoy
Fair Virtue's op'ning bud, and all her hopes destroy!
At length, fo Nereus had her rightly taught,
That doubtful cares might eat her heart no more,
Her imp in prattling infancy fhe brought
To the fam'd Centaur, on Mount Pelion hoar,
Hight Chiron, whom to Saturn Phyl'ra bore;
Chiron, whose wisdom flourish'd 'bove his peers,
In ev'ry goodly thew, and virtuous lore,
To principle his yet untainted years;
The feed that's early fown, the fairest harvest bears.
Far in the covert of a bushy wood,
Where aged trees their star-proof branches spread,
A grott, with grey mofs ever dropping stood;
Ne coftly gems the sparkling roof difplay'd,
Ne crystal squares the pavement rich inlaid,
But o'er the pebbles, clear with glaffy shine,
A limpid stream in foothing murmurs ftray'd,
And all around the flow'ring eglantine
It's balmy tendrils spread in many a wanton twine.
A lowly habitation, well I ween,
Yet facred made by men of mickle fame,
Who there in precepts wife had leffon'd been;
Chafte Peleus, confort of the fea-born dame,
Sage Efculape, who cou'd the vital flame
(Blefs'd leach!) relumine by his healing skill;
And Jafon, who, his father's crown to claim,
Defcended dreadful from the craggy hill,
And with his portence ftern did false ufurper thrill.
Faft by the cave a damfel was ypight,
Afraid from earth her blushing looks to rear,
Left aught indecent fhou'd offend her fight,
Left aught indecent fhou'd offend her ear;
Yet wou'd fhe fometime deign at fober chear
Softly to fmile, but ever held it shame
The mirth of foul-mouth'd ribaldry to bear,
A cautious nymph, and Modesty her name:
Ah! who but churlish carle would hurt so pure a dame ?
With her fate Temperance, companion meet,
Plucking from tree-en bough her fimple food,
And pointing to an urn befide her feet,
Fill'd with the chrystal of the wholesome flood:
With her was feen, of grave and awful mood,
Hoary Fidelity, a matron ftaid;
And sweet Benevolence, who fmiling flood,
Whilst at her breaft two fondling infants play'd,
And turtles, billing foft, coo'd through the echoing glade.
On t'other fide, of bold and open air,
Was a fair perfonage hight Exercise; Reclin❜d he feem'd upon his rough boar-spear, As late furceas'd from hardy enterprize;
(For floth inglorious did he aye defpife)
Fresh glow'd his cheek with health's vermilion dye, On his fleek brow the fwelling fweat-drops rife,
And oft around he darts his glowing eye
To view his well-breath'd hounds, full jolly company.
Nor far away was fage Experience plac'd,
With care-knit brow, fix'd looks, and fober plight;
Who, weighing well the prefent with the past,
Of every accident cou'd read aright.
With him was rev'rend Contemplation pight,
Bow-bent with eld, his beard of fnowy hue;
Yet age's hand mote not impair the fight,
Still with sharp ken the eagle he'd pursue,
As through the buxom air to heav'n's bright bow'rs fhe flew.
Here the fond parent left her darling care,
Yet foftly breath'd a figh as fhe withdrew;
Here the young hero, e'en from tender year,
Eftfoons imbib'd inftruction's honey'd dew,
(For well to file his tongue, fage Chiron knew)
And learnt to discipline his life aright;
To pay to pow'rs fupreme a reverence due,
Chief to Saturnian Jove, whose dreaded might Wings through difparted clouds the bick'ring lightning's flight,
Aye was the ftripling wont, ere morning fair
Had rear'd o'er eastern waves her rofy tede,
To grafp with tender hand the pointed spear,
And beat the thicket where the boar's fell breed
Enfhrouded lay, or lion's tawny feed.
Oft wou'd great Dian, with her woody train,
Stop in mid chace to wonder at his fpeed,
Whilft up the hill's rough fide fhe faw him ftrain,
Or fweep with winged feet along the level plain.
And when dun fhades had blent the day's bright eye,
Upon his fhoulders, with flow ftagg'ring pace,
He brought the prey his hand had done to die,
Whilft blood with duft befprent did foul difgrace
The goodly features of his glowing face.
When as the fage beheld on graffy foil
Each panting corfe, whilft life did well apace,
The panther of his spotted pride he'd spoil,
To deck his fofter fon; fit meed of daring toil.
And ever and anon the godlike fire,
To temper ftern behelts with pleafaunce gay,
Would touch (for well he cou'd) the filver lyre;
So fweetly ravish'd each inchanting lay,
That Pan, in fcornful wife, wou'd fling away
His ruftick pipe, and e'en the facred train.
Wou'd leave their lov'd Parnafs' in trim array,
And thought their own Apollo ouce again
Charm'd his attentive flock, a fimple shepherd fwain.
And ever and anon, of worthies old,
Whofe praife Fame's trump thro'earth's wide bounds had spread. To fire his mind to brave exploits, he told;
Pirithous, known for proweft hardy-head;
Thefeus, whofe wrath the dire Procruñes fled;
And Hercules, whom trembling Lerna fear'd,
When Hydra fell, in leathfome marshes bred,
In vain against the fon of Jove uprear'd
Head fprouting under head, by thrillant faulchion fhear'd,
The ftern-brow'd boy in mute attention flood,
To hear the fage relate each great emprize; Then frode along the cave in haughtier mood,
Whilft varying paffions in his bolom rife,
And lightning-beams flash from his glowing eyes.
E'en now he scorns the prey the defarts yield,
E'en now (as hope the future scene supplies)
He shakes the terror of his heav'n-form'd fhield,
And braves th' indignant flood, and thunders o'er the field.
LD Chiron to his pupil thus began,
When he beheld him rip'ning into man.
Accomplish'd youth! well worthy of my pains,
You now are free, and guide yourself the reins:
• Yet hear, Achilles! hear, before we part,
A few short precepts from a faithful heart.
What tho' the gods a Neftor's age deny!
Let management a longer life supply,
And learn, at leaft, to live, before you
A little tract, well till'd, more profit yields,
⚫ Than realms of wild uncultivated fields.
• 'Tis not from length of years our pleasures flow,
Nor to the gods alone our blifs we owe.
Our happiness and pain depend on us :
Man's his own good or evil genius.
Great ills by art we lighten, or remove,
And art our meanest pleasures may improve:
Much to ourselves is due, tho' much to Jove.
Think not, young prince, your elevated ftate,
Birth, honours, or the empty name of great,
Can fix your joys; they're ill fecur'd, unless
You know yourself to form your happiness,
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