Classic Poem

AN IMITATION OF DRYDEN; A PRETENDED VERSION OF A SUPPOSED ORIGINAL, BUT WHICH HAS NO EXISTENCE IN OVID .

T HE Goddess, present at the match she made,
So bless'd the bed, such fruitfulness convey'd,
That ere ten moons had sharpen'd either horn,
Pledge of their bliss, a lovely boy was born,
Paphos his name (who, grown to manhood, wall'd
The city Paphos , from the founder call'd):
And that same hour a second offspring knows,
Fair as the morn its purest lustre throws,
Fair as in Venus , to the Poet's dream,
Beauty itself, and loveliness would seem,
Pygmalia call'd, though useless were the name
To mark from whom the matchless wonder came.
Nor fainter beauties on her mind impress'd,
The father's genius in her own confess'd;
Her forms had life by inspiration caught,
The ivory panted, and the marble thought,
Nor brighter shone the partner of his bed,
When to the nuptial throne by Venus led,
Her glowing charms the amorous youth inspir'd,
The bold converted, and the cautious fir'd.
She , though assail'd was her ingenuous mind
With all the rhetorick that love could find,
The torch of Hymen , blushing, still refus'd;
But in her soft repulse new hopes infus'd: —
Her's the sole bliss to rival Nature's form,
In mimic stone, with life's impression warm;
To court in solitude Minerva's power,
And waste in fruitless toil the musing hour.
Love's injur'd God in subtle mischief smil'd,
And the enchanted Artist thus revil'd:
" Beware of man! — be elegant, and chaste!
Live to your genius only, and your taste!
Though ripe your beauties for their aptest use,
Let no alluring form the heart seduce!
Wrapt in your skill, reversing Nature's plan,
Court the male statue, and refuse the man!
But here shall rage the self-consuming fire,
The hopeless dream, and frenzy of desire:
A mimic form shall irritate your breast,
And the cold phantom be in vain caress'd:
One god-like youth, in secret often view'd,
Your own creation, shall yourself delude!
The lovely Ganymede inspires your thought —
His air and smiles are from Olympus brought!
Now on his tempting lip your kisses plac'd,
Or thrown your arms around his polish'd waist:
Now — but no longer innocent — you rove
To wanton pleasures, and forbidden love,
Till, as your glowing touch invites the boy
To wild endearments of mysterious joy —
In marble fetters every limb is bound,
The whisper'd accents breathe a fainter sound;
New , but unchang'd , — and, though transform'd , the same ,
Your partial glance, that cherishes its flame,
Upon the dear bewitching form is cast,
And still with jealous care you hold him fast;
Another Niobe shall seem to weep,
And memory to wake, though passion sleep. "
Thus he prophetic, and the fatal word,
In partial mood assenting, Venus heard;
Pygmalia's mind, still innocent and good,
With coy delight her favourite art pursued;
Inviolate escap'd the ardent kiss,
And scorn'd with decent pride the lover's bliss;
Refusing Hymen's mysteries to know,
And smiling at the little archer's bow:
To her appear no visions of the night
(That subtle prompter of the waking sight);
No thoughts impure the maiden colour chace,
Or flush the calm that smiles upon her face:
Enough to her that one enchanting form
With blameless love her apathy can warm —
That her own Ganymede's half-breathing shade,
In Beauty's naked loveliness array'd,
Can cheer with fancy's glow her spotless breast,
And waken her affections, not molest;
A miracle of art that art excels,
Till, wrapt in wonder, every sense rebels.
Smiling it seems, and grateful to her skill,
Proud of her hand, and servant of her will:
Intent her eyes commend the ripening boy,
His youthful ardour, and impatient joy;
The wanton streamers of his hair admire,
And pouting lips, the heralds of desire.
Her eyes — ah whither, whither do they rove?
To other beauties that with Nature strove?
These, pure of sinful thought, her trembling hand
Explores in secret, and with gay demand,
As if alluring to the amorous flame,
Nor blameless courts, nor yet with conscious blame .
At length transported, — " 'Tis my love that 's here;
Chaste I 'll enfold him, and abandon fear.
And thou (she said) indulgent Venus , bless
What I thus pant with ardour to possess!
Or give that lifeless from a vital flame,
Or into marble these affections tame! "
Nor more: with passion's tempest overcome,
She leap'd impatient; but her voice is dumb:
Congeal'd and petrified, her senses fail,
Till the hard bonds o'er every limb prevail:
Yet in the meeting statues we admire
A virgin form contending with desire,
In conflict vain: — the lips in marble breathe,
And Love triumphant seems to wear the wreath.
Here pants the bosom, as with life endued,
The neck seems aching, and the kiss renew'd:
Here link'd in closer union they appear,
And seem Intrusion's eye no more to fear;
Till, jealous of usurping Fiction's reign,
The rooted marble is itself again.