Amours

A bull does o'er the waves Europa bear,

And Proteus any form he pleases wear.

How oft do we the Theban wonders read,

Of serpent's teeth transform'd to human seed!

Of dancing woods, and moving rocks, that throng

To hear sweet Orpheus, and Amphion's song ?

How oft do the Heliades bemoan,

In tears of gum, the fall of Phaeton!

The sun from Atreus' table frightened flies,

And backward drives his chariot in the skies.

Those now are nymphs that lately were a fleet;

Poetic license ever was so great.

But none did credit to these fictions give,

Or for true history such tales receive,

And though Corinna in my songs is fair,

Let none conclude she's like her picture there.

The fable she with hasty faith receiv'd,

And what, so very well she lik'd, believ'd.

But since so ill she does the poet use,

'Tis time her vanity to disabuse.

My wife, a native of Phaliscan plains,

Where the rich soils enrich the lab'ring swains,

Where purple grapes and golden apples grow,

A conquest we to great Camillus owe.

When once to Juno's feast she thither went,

My mind to know the secret rites was bent:

The pious priests the solemn sports prepare,

And purify the fane with holy care.

A heifer of the place they sacrifice,

But ne'er to men expose their mysteries,

I mark'd the hidden way my consort went,

And follow'd down the deep and dark descent.

To an old wood at last I came, whose shade

Impress'd a horror on the gloom it made,

And ev'ry step with trembling feet I trod,

Profan'd, I thought, the dwelling of a god.

An altar there was rais'd by hands divine,

And fragrant incense flam'd around the shrine.

Chaste matrons there their vow'd oblations pay,

And celebrate with joyful hymns the day.

Soon as the fife the signal gives, they move

In long procession through the sacred grove

Branches and flow'rs are with devotion spread

O'er all the way, and priestly vestments laid.

Next after these, through loud acclaims, they lead

A cow milk white, and of Phaliscan breed;

Then a young steer, whose forehead ne'er had borne

The crooked honours of the butting horn.

The least of all the victims was a swine,

And then a ram whose horns around his temples twine.

A goat, whom most the goddess hates, comes last;

The present feels her vengeance for the past.

When in a wood to hide herself she tried,

She by the bleating of a goat was spied;

For this the beast is by the boys pursu'd;

For this she's ever greedy of its blood,

And he, who first the letcher wounds in play,

Claims by her law, and hears the prize away.

The tender youth, and tim'rous virgin strow

With robes the ground the goddess is to go.

The virgins' locks with golden fillets bound,

And sparkling diamonds glitt'ring all around;

Buskins embroider'd on their feet they wear,

And spreading trains with pride uneasy bear.

Here, as in Greece the custom was of old,

The image of the goddess we behold

Borne on the heads of maidens, and behind

The priestesses in beauteous rank you find.

An awful silence reigns : the goddess last

Approaches, and with her the pomp is past.

The dress was Greek, and such Halesus wore,

When in a fright he fled the Grecian shore;

His father kill'd, an Argive ship he fraught,

And to this coast the royal treasure brought.

Much peril had he past, much labour known,

O'er lands and seas, before he reach'd our own,

And landing built, with happy hand, the town,

Where first he did this festival revive,

And its Greek rules to the Phaliscans give;

The rites and sacrifices first he show'd,

As practis'd now within this ancient wood.

Ah, may these rites to all propitious be,

No more to those that serv'd them than to me.

I do not ask you would to me prove true,

Since you're a woman, and a fair one too.

Act what you please, yet study to disguise

The wanton scenes from my deluded eyes.

A stiff denial would attenuate

That crime which your confession would make great.

And 'twere unwise to trust the tell-tale light,

With the dark secrets of the silent night.

Tho' bought to be enjoy'd, a common whore

Ere she begins will shut the chamber door:

And will you turn debauch'd, then vainly own

How lewd you are, to this malicious town?

At least seem virtuous, and tho' false you be,

Say you are honest, and I'll credit thee.

Conceal your actions, and while I am by,

Let modest words your looser thoughts belie;

When to your private chamber you retire,