THE FABLE of PHAETON Paraphrased From OVID's METAMORPHOSIS. WIth swelling thoughts fixt on his great intent, Now Phaeton had climb'd the Suns ascent; And to his radiant Father's Pallace came; Whose heavenly seat lookt blazon'd all with flame: On Stately Pedestalls erected high Above the Convex of the utmost Sky: Its Glorious Front, dazled, yet pleas'd the sight, With vigorous sallys of AEthereal Light. The entrance, all divinely deckt, was wrought, Beyond the invention of a humane thought; With various figures exquisite and bold, As the Amazing Novelties they told. Here awful Neptune rises from the deep, Around the peaceful Billows seem to sleep: Here dreadful Whales the Blust'ring Tritons stride, And raise a Silver Tempest as they glide: In mighty shells the lovely Nereids swim, And blewish gods the lofty billows climb. Wide from the Shore a pleasant scene of Land, With careless Beauty did it self expand: Here Mountains, Valleys, Springs, and Sacred Groves, Flocks, Herds, Unpolish'd Shepherds, and their Loves; The Dryads, Satyrs, Silver Gods, and Fawns, Had here their Rural Pallaces and Lawns. Above all this, appear'd the blest abodes, And gay-Pavilions of th' Immortal Gods: Upon a Painted-Zodiack brightly shone With Glittering Emralds Sols refulgent Throne: Here sate in Purple the Bright God of Day, (Whom Phaeton now trembles to survey:) Smooth were his Cheeks, most lovely eyes, his brows Adorn'd with rays, and his own sacred boughs: Around, the days, the months, and years attend, While, at his feet, the crooked Ages bend: The beauteous Spring (more gay than all the rest,) Stood smiling by, clad in a Flowry Vest: Summer, with Ears of Corn, her temples bound, And Autumn with Luxuriant Clusters crown'd: In order next old hoary-Winter stood; His Aspect horrid, and congeal'd his blood. Surrounded thus with Majesty and State, Bold Phaeton's Illustrious Father sate: The God his ventrous Off-spring now espyes; Amaz'd! demands, What urg'd his enterprize? And what great Embassy cou'd bring him to the Skies? Monarch of Light, the doubtful Youth returns, Whose absence Life it self and Nature mourns: Most splendid Ruler of the wellcome Day, Serenest Spring of all that's fair and gay — If bolder I may speak — if e're — if e're The Thoughts of Love and Clymene were dear; — Then grant a certain sign, that may on Earth Resolve the question'd grandeur of my Birth, My best-lov'd-Son, great Phoebus made Reply, (And back he casts the radiant Energy Of his thick beams) my Phaeton draw Nigh: And doubt no longer my Paternal rights; For, by my Clymene, by th' Intense delights That gave thee Birth, so — now chuse a sign, And by the Dark Infernal Lake 'tis thine. Straight the ambitious youth demands the sway Of his hot Steeds, and Chariot of the Day. Amaz'd, the lucent Deity shook his head, Revolving his Tremendous Oath, and said; Unthinking Phaeton what dost thou ask? Not Iove himself durst undertake the Task: Though not a God in the Blew-Arch more great, Yet even he'd decline our Flaming Seat. Can'st thou, a Mortal, then supply my Throne? Curb my fierce Steeds, and pass the Intemperate Zone? So hard and difficult, the ascent of day Scarce with fresh Horses vanquish I the way: With horror, on the distant Earth at Noon, We from the Zenith's dismal heighth look down The steep Descent; from thence we swiftly roul: Nor here our headlong Coursers Brook controul. Even Lovely Thetis sees my Fall with dread, Though every Night she expects me to her Bed. Besides, thou'lt meet a Thousand rugged Jarrs From the incountring Motions of the Stars; Scarce our Immortal Efforts stem their force: Betwixt the Bulls sharp hornes then lies thy course, By Sagitarius, and the Scorpion's Claws, The Gastly Crab, and Leo's dreadful Jaws. Expect no Groves, nor Flowry Mansions there, Nor Gods, nor Nymphs; but Monsters every where, Then let a Father's timely Care perswade, And yet retract the dangerous Choice thou'st made Be wise, and urge no more this fatal Sign; Alas, my Grief, too sadly, speaks thee Mine. Of all the Earths, or Seas rich Bosoms hide, Or Treasures which in upper Air abide; Ask what thou wilt, or dar'st (besides) to wish; Do, Phaeton, ask any thing but this; And, by my former Sacred Oath, 'tis thine. But the hot Youth, fixt on his rash design, With such an Enterprize, the more inflam'd His anxious Father's Oath, now boldly claim'd, Who forc'd to yield. The nimble hours soon brought His Chariot forth in hot Vesuvio wrought, By crafty Vulcan, and the Cyclops Art, Who'd shown immortal skill in every part: The Wheels, and Axeltree, the purest Gold, Bright as those Lucid Tracts in which they roul'd: The Harness all Emboss'd with Crysolites, And twinkling sparks of wondrous colour'd Lights. But now Aurora from her Eastern Bed, Had, o'er the Expanse her Dewy Mantle spread, The Sickly Moon the Hemisphere resigns; And, with her Waning, Lucifer declines. The Dawning grew more fair and ruddy still, And Sol officious now against his will: With Sacred Compounds his fierce Orb allays, Then crowns the Joyful Hero with his Rays: With tender Speeches caution'd thus the while, Let not Presumption thy fond Thoughts beguile , To give my hot unruly Steeds their course, But use the Reins, with utmost care and force, Along a beaten, broad, and oblique way, Far from the Poles, now lies the Road of Day. Avoid the Altar, and the hissing Snake, Both opposite, betwixt them keep the Track; Observe a careful distance from the Skyes, Lest thou affront the awful Deities; Nor near the Earth approach, the mean is best; To Destiny with hope I leave the rest. For, loe the pale Commandress of the Night Resigns her Empire to th' expected Light. Take up the Reins; or yet, or yet be wise, And graspa more proportion'd enterprize: But Phaeton, as resolute as great, Undaunted, leaps into the Blazing Seat; Pleas'd with his glorious charge, nor doubts his Skill To manage it, he Mounts th' Olympick Hill. Aloud th' Immortal Steeds begin to Neigh, And strike their Fiery Hoofs, and make new Day; As through she clouds they cut their sparkling way: And finding now the Reeling Chariot fraught With nothing congruous to Celestial weight; Unruly grow, and heedless of the Rein, Its feeble Checks, and trembling Guide disdain; And, all disorder'd, careless of their way, Through Paths unknown to Sol himself, they stray: Now near the Fair Triones, who, in vain, Implor'd more Temperate Quarters in the Main With Heat reviv'd, see the fierce Serpent roul, Tho' fix'd his Station near the Frozen Pole. Bootes sweats, and drives his Lazy Team A nimble pace; untry'd before by them, As much distress'd, unhappy Phaeton From Great Olympus arched Top looks down: Black horror now, and aggravating fear, Through all his Conscious thoughts triumphant were: He Curst his Pride, conspicuous Seat, and Birth, And covets the obscurest place on Earth; To be the Son of Meropes, safe below, Unknown to Gods and Men, would please him now; So, all confus'd, the hopeless Pilot Raves, And yields, at last, to the relentless Waves. What can he do? much of the Glowing East Is yet Unconquer'd; more he dreads the West, That dangerous Fall; nor one clear Track can fin'd In Heaven; nor call his Horses Names to mind: Who now near where the dreadful Scorpion lay, Hurryd the shatter'd Chariot of the Day: Proud of the Reins, which from his trembling hands Now faintly drop, no obstacle withstands Their furious course; but through the blazing Sky They foam, and rave, and all disorder'd fly. Now upward, to the Stars, a Path they rend, Then down agen the frightful Steeps descend: Below, her own Diana from afar, With wonder, views her radiant Brothers Car: The exhaled Earth down to its Centre dry, Wants Iuice, her fainting Products to supply: Assaulted with the too prevailing rays, In fatal Flames, whole Towns and Mountains blaze: High Athos, Oete, and the Pin'y top Of pleasant Ida into Cinders drop: Old Tmolus, the Cicillian Mount, and high Parnassus, smoak up to the darkned Sky: Vesuvio roars, more fierce its entrails glow; Nor work the Cyclops at their Anvils now. Steep Othrys, Cynthus, Erix, Mimas, flame Nor Rhodopean Snows the fiercer Fire can tame. Cauoasus frys, Dindyma chaps, and burns Her kindling Grove; fair Aphrodites mourns. The Airy Alps, and Gloomy Appenine, With Ossa, in the conflagration shine: Surrounded thus with Smoak, and Wrathful Fires, Unhappy Phaeton almost expires: Despair within, and Terror all without, By's surious Steeds, at pleasure, hurl'd about; Gasping, and saint, still hurried round, nor more, Tho prop't by Fate, a Mortal could have bore: They say, the Ethiopians now with heat Adust, and scorch't, diffus'd a Sable Sweat; And all the wasted Fountains sadly ring Of some fair Nais, Mourning for her Spring. Nor from the Mightyer Streams the Flame recoils, For in its Channel antient Tana'is boyls. Xanthus, whose Waves agen that Fate must know; Maeander, whose wild Waters, circling flow. Melas, Eurotas, Ister, and the Fair Euphrates, Torrents, half exhausted are. Orontes, Phasis, and the cooler Stream Of Sperchius now like boyling Chaldron's Steam; Alpheus, Ganges, and the flowing Gold, That in the Rich Pactolus Channel roul'd: The Muses Mourn; their Swans, who, as they dye In Charming Notes, breath their own Elegy: Deep, in his utmost Subterranean Bed, Great Nilus hides his undiscover'd Head. Earth cracks, to Hell descend the hated beams, And Plague the howling Ghosts with worse extreams: The exhausted Ocean leaves a Field of Sand; Nor does vext Neptune one cool Wave command. He has lost his share of the grand Monarchy, And vainly lifts his forked Trident high. The Lovely Sisters melt upon the Rocks, While Aged Doris tares her Silver Locks: The Phocoe dye; the Dolphins vainly dive In scalding streams, to keep themselves alive. As much the Goddess of the Earth distrest, With trembling Lips the King of Gods addrest; If thou the Groaning World's Destruction mean, (Incensed Iove) Why sleep thy THUNDERS then? If thou the cause of this Calamity; Or if 'tis some less potent God then thee: Where's all thy goodness, all thy gentle care For Mortals now-that should these Ills repair? Have I for this thy Sacred Victims fed In Hecatombs, to thy high Altars led? Those Altars, which with thy bright Temples smoak, While Iove, in vain, the gasping-Priests Invoke: And loe the Mighty Poles begin to fume; And, Wher's thy Starry Seat should they consume? Tyr'd Atlas sweating, of his load complains, And scarce the burning Axletree sustains: But, fainting here, she stop'd, and shrinks her head Below the gloomy Lodgings of the Dead. Iove calls the Gods (with him, whose daring Son, Too fond of Glory, had this Mischief done:) To view the dreadful flames; then mounts on high, The lostyest Turret that commands the Sky; From whence he us'd to shade the sultry Air, And with kind Showers the Parched Earth to chear: But throws his Flood-gates open now in vain, And prest the light transparent clouds for Rain: At which incens'd, his ruddy Thunder glows, Nor durst the God of beams himself oppose. See the wing'd Vengeance now, see where it breaks, On the rash cause of those lamented Wrecks; And sends the bold Usurper breathless down To the scorch't Earth from his affected Throne: So strike the Gallick Tyrant, that has hurl'd As guilty flames through the complaining World. So awful Iove, so Strike him from his Seat, And all his Aims, and all his Hopes defeat.