Depriv'd him, in her fury, of his fight,
And left him groping round in fudden night,
But fove (for so it is in heav'n decreed,

That no one God repeal another's deed;)
Irradiates all his foul with inward light,

[fight, And with the prophet's art relieves the want of

The Transformation of ECHO.

Fam'd far and near for knowing things to come, From him th' enquiring nations fought their doom; The fair Liriope his answers try'd,

And first th' unerring prophet justify'd;

This nymph the God Cephifus had abus'd,
With all his winding waters circumfus'd,

And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,

Whom the foft maids even then beheld with joy, The tender dame, folicitous to know Whether her child should reach old age or no, Confults the fage Tirefias, who replies,

"If e'er he knows himself, he furely dies. Long liv'd the dubious mother in suspense, Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense,

Narciffus

Narciffus now his fixteenth year began, Juft turn'd of boy, and on the verge of man; Many a friend the blooming youth carefs'd, Many a love-fick maid her flame confefs'd: Such was his pride, in vain the friend carefs'd, The love-fick maid in vain her flame confefs'd.

Once, in the woods, as he purfu'd the chace, The babbling Echo had defcry'd his face; She, who in others' words her filence breaks, Nor speaks herself but when another speaks, Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft, Of wonted speech; for tho' her voice was left, Juno a curfe did on her tongue impofe, To sport with every fentence in the close.

Full often, when the Goddess might have caught

Jove and her rivals in the very

fault.

This nymph with fubtle ftories would delay

Her coming, 'till the lovers flipp'd away.

The Goddess found out the deceit in time,

And then the cry'd, "That tongue, for this thy

crime,

R 4

"Which

"Which could so many subtle tales produce,
"Shall be hereafter but of little ufe.

Hence 'tis fhe prattles in a fainter tone,
With mimic founds, and accents not her own.
This love-fick virgin, overjoy'd to find
The boy alone, still follow'd him behind;
When glowing warmly at her near approach,
As fulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
She long'd her hidden paffion to reveal,
And tell her pains, but had not words to tell:
She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
To catch his voice, and to return the found.
The nymph,when nothing could Narcissus move,
Still dash'd with blushes for her flighted love,
Liv'd in the fhady covert of the woods,
In folitary caves and dark abodes;
Where pining wander'd the rejected fair,
'Till harass'd out, and worn away with care,
The founding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is found
In vaults, where ftill it doubles every found.

The

The Story of NARCISSUS.

Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy, He still was lovely, but he ftill was coy: When one fair virgin of the flighted train Thus pray'd the Gods, provok'd by his disdain, "Oh may he love like me, and love like me in [vain! Rhamnufia pity'd the neglected fair,

And with juft vengeance answer'd to her pray'r.
There ftands a fountain in a darkfom wood,
Nor ftain'd with falling leaves nor rifing mud;
Untroubled by the breath of winds it refts,
Unfully'd by the touch of men or beasts;
High bow'rs of fhady trees above it grow,
And rifing grafs and chearful greens below.
Pleas'd with the form and coolnefs of the place,
And over-heated by the morning chace,
Narciffus on the graffy verdure lies:

But whilft within the crystal fount he tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heat arife.
For as his own bright image he furvey'd,

He fell in love with the fantastic shade;

And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,

Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd,
The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he defcries,
The fpacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes 5
The hands that Bacchus might not fcorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the watr'y glass.
By his own flames confum'd the lover lies,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,

Oft catching at the beauteous fhade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he flips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
With eager clafps, but loves he knows not who,
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
What kindled in thee this unpity'd love?

Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour'd fhadow comes and goes,

Its empty being on thyfelf relies;

Step thou afide, and the frail charmer dies,