Magic Power.
See Circe. Enchantress.
Charms ev’n from Heav’n can conjure down the Moon:
Circe with Charms Ulysses’ Mates transform’d:
In Meadows the cold Snake with Charms is burst.
These Poisons, and these magic Simples, cull’d
In Pontus (many such in Pontus grow)
Sage Moeris gave me: Oft with These I’ve seen
Moeris into a Wolf himself transform,
And howling seek the Woods: oft raise up Ghosts
From Graves: and Crops to Fields not their’s transfer.–
A wreath–horn’d Ram is brought, so far o’ergrown
With Years, his Years was to that Age unknown:
His craggy Throat she cuts, and lets out Life:
The little Blood scarce stains the wounding Knife.
The Carcass in the boiling Cauldron swims,
And Drugs are blended with the mangled Limbs:
Each Limb, now lessen’d by Degrees, appears,
He casts his Horns, and with his Horns his Years,
And soon a tender Bleating strikes their Ears.
While they admire, forth skips a frisking Lamb,
That bounds away, and wants to suck the Dam.–
The coldest Hearts Thessalian Numbers warm,
And ruthless Bosoms own the potent Charm:
In frozen Age they rouse perverse Desire,
And kindle into Lust the wintry Sire.
Where noxious Cups, and pois’nous Philters fail,
More potent Spells, and mystic Verse prevail.
No Draught so strong the Knots of Love prepare,
Cropt from her Younglings by the Parent Mare.
Ev’n those whom neither Ties of nuptial Love,
Nor Beauty’s radiant Blandishments could move,
Melt, as the Thread runs on, and sighing, feel
The giddy Whirling of the magic Wheel.
Charm’d by the Hag’s all powerful Command,
Eternal Motion stops her active Hand:
The glorious Sun forgets his Time to rise,
And pitchy Night pollutes the sable Skies:
No more Heav’n’s rapid Circles roll away,
But universal Nature’s at a Stay:
Great Jupiter, with Wonder, sees the Pole,
Urg’d onward by himself, refuse to roll.
Now, at a Word, the Rains pour down apace,
And bellying Clouds obscure the Sun’s bright Face:
Surpriz’d again, from his celestial Tow’r,
Jove hears around unbidden Thunders roar:
Once more they speak, and shake their flowing Hair,
And strait the Storms are gone, the Heav’ns are fair.
In the still Calm they bid the Waves run high,
Or smooth the Deep, tho’ Boreas shakes the Sky;
The stretching Canvas swell against the Wind:
This blows before, and that is fill’d behind.
Streams have run back at Murmurs of their Tongue,
And Torrents from the Rock, suspended, hung.–
Each deadly Kind, by Nature form’d to kill,
Fear the dire Hags, and execute their Will.
Lions, to them, their nobler Rage submit,
And fawning Tygers couch beneath their Feet.
For them the Snake forgoes her wintry Hold,
And on the hoary Frost untwines her Fold.
The mangled Viper they can re–unite,
Or with their poys’nous Breath the Serpent split.–
Magic the starry Lamps from Heav’n can tare,
And shoot them headlong, gleaming thro’ the Air:
Can blot fair Cynthia’s Countenance serene,
And poison with foul Spells the silver Queen:
Now, pale, the ghastly Goddess shrinks with Dread,
And now, black smoky Fires involve her Head:
As when Earth’s envious interposing Shade,
Cuts off her beamy Brother from her Aid.
Held by the potent Charm, she strives in vain,
And labours with the long pursuing Pain:
Till down, and downward still, compell’d to come,
On hallow’d Herbs she sheds her fatal Foam.–
Maid Marriageable.
The Maid, now past an Infant, feels the Flames
Of sprightly Love, and innocently claims:
She hopes the nuptial State, but hopes with Fear:
And wishes, but her Wish is unsincere.–
Majesty.
Up to the Temple moves the beauteous Queen,
Dido, surrounded with a Troop of Guards:
As on Eurotas’ Banks, or Cynthus’ Top
Diana leads her Train: a thousand Nymphs
Enclose her round: Herself her Quiver bears
High on her Shoulder, and with stately Walk
O’er–looks them all: a secret Pleasure slides
Along Latona’s Breast. Such Dido was,
So smiling thro’ the Crowd she pass’d.–
Then in the Entrance of the Dome, beneath
The middle of the Temple’s Arch, she sat,
Fenc’d round with Arms: and, on her Throne aloft
Leaning majestic, to her Subjects gave
Commands and Laws–
Their Queen, whom in her Chamber Dress detains,
Before her Gates the Punic Nobles wait:
Her Steed adorn’d with Purple, and with Gold,
Stands pawing, fierce, and champs the foaming Bit.
At length attended with a num’rous Guard,
She comes majestic: Her Sidonian Vest
Border’d with crimson Fringe: Her Quiver, Gold:
Her Tresses in a golden Knot confin’d:
A golden Buckle clasps her purple Robe.–
Mean while the Kings in long Procession move;
High in his Chariot, by four Horses drawn,
Latinus rides: twelve golden Rays inclose
His Temples round: illustrious Argument
Of his high Lineage, from the Sun deriv’d.
In his white Car, young Turnus next succeeds,
Shaking two Jav’lins of broad pointed Steel.
Then, from the opposite embattl’d Line,
Comes the great Father of the Roman Race,
(Henry Baker)
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