Now when Apollo from the cloud came forth
He took his chariot, drove towards the north,
From whence he came; while Boreas stretched a limb,
And sent a whirlwind to accompany him
Back to the regions of the world above:
But on his way he stay’d beneath a grove,
Of moderate magnificence, and where,
With solemn grandeur, dwelt—in midway air—
The Empress of the palls,
[136] despair, and woe,
Who greeted him with a most graceful bow.
She saw the god was mournful in his look,
Surmised his errand, and, in haste, betook
Her folio, and, with her refulgent shaft,
Made (as he spake) a brief but careful draft
Of his demand. Apollo (whose delight
Defied conception), seeing the marv’lous flight
With which her shaft had plann’d the burial-rite,
Declared his acquiescence; and with voice—
Conceived by him most suited to her choice—
Which made the solemn goddess’ heart rejoice,
Demanded when and what the hour would be
That Bacchus should go down t’eternity.
She straightway answered him, and meetly named—
“Within an hour the god shall be embalmed;
And on the morrow, as the sun goes down,
The car of death shall through the gulf be drawn.
Five hundred horse,” she said, “of equal size,
Shall form the vanguard to the realm of sighs;
From every horse a rein shall concentrate,
And mighty Hercules
[137] shall drive in state;
For he, alone, hath strength at his command
To grasp the giant bridle in one hand;
Whilst with the other he upholds his beam,
And sends the silver lash forth with a scream:
The goddess Mors
[138] shall join the funeral train,
Close followed by the nymphs, arranged in twain;
Whose sun-brown’d faces shall be draped with care,
Their bodies plaited immortelles shall wear;
At each one’s side a tabour shall be slung,
Which, beaten, will enhance the mournful song.”
This said, Apollo wing’d his car again,
And drove direct to where the god was lain;
There he beheld his Daphne standing by,
Still venting forth her grief with moistened eye
(The faithful goddess, charitable queen,
Beside poor Bacchus’ form a day had been):
Her soul was sad, her lips refusèd food,
Yet, like a guardian-angel, there she stood
Contemplating what ought or might be done
With the cold corpse; whilst her fair lord had gone
Down to the chambers of the mighty god.
He now saluted her with courtly word—
“O Daphne! thou art dear t’Apollo’s heart;
Look up, O nymph! and list whilst I impart
Pluto’s commands with reference to the dead!”
She heard his voice, and rais’d her heavy head;
So pleased to see her gentle lord return
She ceas’d her tears, but did not cease to mourn:
Her auburn tresses answered to the breeze
Which goodly Zephyrus
[139] sent by slow degrees,—
Presuming that her nearly-fainting form
Might be sustain’d and succourèd from harm:
But ere she’d time to utter forth a sound,
A mighty rumbling shook the very ground!
They turn’d and saw advancing on the plain
Meek Libitina, and her sombre train;
Then in an instant they were mute and calm,
Whilst the black host proceeded to embalm
The still fresh-coloured, robust shape of him
Who now had ceased to be—like as a dream.
(The fragrant perfume of the embalming-herbs,
The death-impregnant atmosphere absorbs:
Round and about, the vines were still in bloom;
But all a mournful posture did assume:
The glassy-bumpers ev’n appearèd dull,
And for awhile their liquors turn’d to gall:
The azure sky was totally obscur’d;
But Sol himself was not to be immured,—
He stay’d, as ’twere within two leagues of Earth,
And penetrated through the halo-girth
Intensely red and hot, to mark his love
For the fall’n god, the earthly friend of Jove!)
This
[140] done, the gloomy host returned below
Unto the palace of the queen of woe;
Where preparations were going briskly on,
To bury Bacchus at to-morrow’s sun,—
The going-down thereof, she thought the proper course
For the interment of his giant corpse.
’Twas coming night,—the eve of that sad day
When all the starry gods would come to pay
Their last respects unto the lifeless clod,
In form of man, now lying upon the sod,—
“And Daphne!” said the nymph, “to watch alone
(Save the companionship of the pale moon),
Throughout those dreary hours without a soul? * * *
Oh, stay, my love, and o’er me have control.”
This, said to Apollo, fired his sapient brain:
His love for Daphne nought could now restrain!
(So “in the midst of life we are in death;”
And “all is vanity” the preacher saith.)—
Apollo stay’d, and slept upon the field,
And nursed his love as mothers nurse a child.
Now, Leo’s nights were short, so day came on;
Aurora
[141] blush’d to see the beauteous moon:
But she
[142]—the virtuous angel of the night,
Succumb’d; and thus withdrew her silvery light.
Prodigious Sol then soared into the main;
And with him soared Apollo’s tuneful strain,—
His prayer in song—so pithy and so sweet,
Ne’er fail’d t’imprint its influence on the great
Celestial magnates, nobles of the air.
But Bacchus’ death nigh drove them to despair!
They knew not that the god was lying dead,
Until Apollo (not in vain) had pray’d
For them to come and join the ritual:
Nor for a moment did they deign t’recall
The disappointment when they all went down,
To Bacchus’ cry, and found the god was gone:
They sought for no excuse, but came at once—
Garb’d in their glory—through the vast expanse
Of heav’n, and ’lighted on the plain, whereat
The great musician and fair Daphne sat.
First, Jupiter (Jehovah of the skies,
Whose silver hair, in ringlets, reach’d his thighs;
And round his waist, most splendid to behold,
Were jointed girdles wrought of solid gold,
And golden shoes, protectors of his feet,
Enhanced the splendour of his manly gait:
He grasp’d a sceptre sixteen feet in length;
Himself next to great Hercules in strength:
Superb in mien, and venerably grand,
Whose eye no mortal goddess could withstand.)
Arrived; as he advanced, six feet of ground
Escaped his tread at each successive bound:
Twelve feet he stood; his hair fell o’er his brow,
And from his chin a nevious beard did flow:
Towards the soil his feather’d limbs inclined:
His countenance bespoke a gentle mind:
(Once the poor god, now dead, implored his aid;
Who smote the fount and Bacchus’ thirst was stay’d.)
Seen in the distance, thundering as he came,
He look’d a god of most uncommon frame!
Poor Daphne shook to see his wondrous form:
Her noble blood began to mingle warm;
But pale and circumspect she did remain,
Impress’d with awe, her eyes straight to the plain
Upon th’ incumbent god,—whose time was come
To be removed into the dismal tomb.
Next to great Jupiter, came Mercury,—
His flesh as smooth and white as ivory,—
Though not so tall, as handsome as the one
Already there, and sadly looking on;
Yet Mercury is both great in stature, and
Appear’d a lord possessed of much command
In the ethereal mansions; nay—in speech
So eloquent—no other gods could match.
Then came his majesty the monarch Mars,
In crimson robes inwoved with diamond stars;
Robust and hale the god of war appear’d,
With azure eyes; with saffron colour’d beard:
In fight, no other god could dare offend;
And seldom did the monarch condescend
To make acquaintanceship with others, for
He proudly thought himself superior;
Yet he, in token of his great regard
For him who lay upon the bruised sward,
Threw off his mask of pride, and came below:
With him he brought his unstrung golden bow,
To mark his rank and office in the skies;
But here he stoop’d, and stooping yielded sighs,—
Griev’d to the heart to see poor Bacchus so:—
Him once so warm, but now as cold as snow.
That other belted god, mysterious being,
Saturnus came, and stood fourth in the ring
Which now began to encompass Bacchus round;
His hair jet-black, his aspect most profound:
A purple garb hung loose around his loins,
To which his badge of honour meetly joins;
His eagle eyes were now bedimm’d with tears,—
He mourn’d for him he’d known a thousand years;
And more than once his sighs were loud indeed:
In his sad countenance the heart could read
Th’ amount of sorrow his grave breast contained;
His strength of mind increasing tears restrained;
And to denote his senatorial rights,
Brought down with him his seven satellites:
He, punctual as to time, was at his post,—
There murm’ring forth “O Bacchus, Bacchus, lost”
The Georgian Planet, stripling
[143] of the air,
In grand habiliments forth did repair
Unto the scene of grief; not over tall,
Yet bore the image of his master, Sol;
He saw the corpse, and plainly did foreshow
(Though stratagem allowed no tears to flow)
His feelings at the sight of death; but he—
Child of the skies—bore up courageously:
He (with his satellites—six beauteous lads,
Esteemèd much among the greatest gods—
Attending in their robes of lightish-blue,
’Terwoven with fine gimp of golden hue),
Attract’d the grave attention of old Mars;
Who hail’d him as the “Herschel of the Stars,”—
And beckon’d him t’advance, and kiss’d his hand:
The stripling blushed; he could not understand
Why, or wherefore, such favour should be shown
To one so young by one so olden grown;
Yet felt much pleasure on being recognis’d,
Whilst more superior gods (as though despis’d)
Array’d in gorgeous dress, of greater growth,
And, in his estimation, greater worth,—
Stood silently and mournfully around,
Intent upon the death-inclosure mound.
Earth,
[144] most profound, in her unfeigned grief—
Smote her bare breast; her speech was very brief;
She felt a pressure on her noble heart,
But in the rite she took an ample part,—
Survey’d the gulf down which the corpse would pass,
And lined its edges with resplendent moss:
Most modest, and most generous soul,
She’d oft contributed to Bacchus’ bowl,—
Prolong’d his life in most abundant ease,
Until decrepitude besought release;
And still regarded him as one of those
Whom she, herself, could least afford to lose:
“But he is gone! and with his corpse a tear
Shall stray,” said she, “upon the sinking bier;
And when regenerated he shall rise,
Earth shall be first, for joy, to dim her eyes.”
Revolving Venus, Empress of the globes,
Extremely beautiful, in purple robes,
Came now majestically o’er the sward;
In rev’rence to the dead, spoke not a word:
Though, in her joy, her voice was like a lute,
She wept in silence, and remainèd mute:
Her rosy crown with jew’ls shone like the Sun,
And tipp’d her tear-drops as they trickled down:
On either side a Cupid, doubly fair,
Bore up the tresses of her golden hair;
The Graces guarded her upon the plain;
And fair Adonis held her diamond train:
Her shell-shaped chariot (rearward on the field)
Of ivory wrought, no eye had e’er beheld
More beautiful or more enchanting beams,
Carved in one solid mass—devoid of seams.
Behold Diana, goddess of the chase;
Mark well her features, and her lovely face!
She, with dear Venus, set the world on fire
With love and beauty, which induced satire:
Fair daughter of great Jupiter, she stood—
Eyes fix’d upon the ground—in pensive mood;
Her bow, her quiver, deer-skin on her breast,
Distinctly pointed her from out the rest.
Poor Actæon (youth, most skilful with the bow—
Whose eyes betray’d him, and led on to woe)
Beheld, by chance, the goddess in the lake;
Dreamt not his own existence was at stake;
But in an instant Fate, with double wrath,
Transform’d into a stag th’ incautious youth;
And there, upon the bank, before her face—
His end was wrought by his own dogs of chase.
(To contemplate his end we stand aghast;
For dire indeed was the poor stripling’s last!)
Among the other goddesses and nymphs,
We scan the circle, and at once we glimpse
Good Agenora, most industrious child,
Laborious maiden on the barren wild;
Who toil’d for ages, and (’twas not in vain)
Made a vast wilderness bear lovely grain:
She by Diana stood, meek, yet sedate,
And trespass’d not beyond her own estate.
Aurora, lovely nymph with wings outspread,
Having heard with sorrow that the god was dead,
Came like a cloud across the purple field;
And, as she swept along the air, did gild
With the reflection of her crimson folds
Hills, valleys, mountains, plains, and gorsèd wolds.
(O lovely nymph! more lovely in the morn,
When o’er the heav’ns thy radiancy is borne;
When thou, with magic touch, the gates unbar,
And bid to rest that struggling little star—
Last in the field of night, which fain would stay
To see the beauties of th’ advancing day
But weak in its endeavours to withstand
The saffron firmament, holds forth its hand
To shield its face from the bedimming flood;
And in its turn forsakes the neighbourhood
Of heaven.) And now she ’lights among the gods:
To every one she, sweet enchantress, nods;
And, calmly drawing her gorgeous mantle round,
Pores o’er the lifeless body on the ground.
Four other goddesses, for virtue famed,
Who, for their sweet demeanour, should be named:
Minerva, Astrea, and Concordia, three;
First, for her wisdom and sagacity;
The second, for her justice much renown’d;
And next, the third, for peace and concord found;
The fourth, for loveliness, Hygeia stands,—
Health in her face, and garlands in her hands.
Omphale, nymph beloved by Hercules;
And Hero, “beauteous woman,” came from Thrace.
Besides all these, there came Historia forth:
Fair Ceres,
[145] benefactress of the Earth:
Lubentia, cheerful goddess, draped her face,
And came with all her charms veil’d o’er with lace:
Fair Flora, graceful child, herself a flower,
Brought all the beauties from her fairy bower:
Pure Febrüa, who never once did feign
Her love to any, joined the mournful train.
Now came high Juno, lovely queen of heaven,
August in form; by whom were peacocks driven
Through the blue path which led unto the scene;
Her crown and sceptre graced her noble mien;
She, mother of great Mars, and Vulcan, too,
Bedoff’d her smiles, as solemnly she drew
Unto the place where stood the sorrowing nymphs,
And sigh’d whilst on the corpse she cast a glimpse.
In the first rank the famed Cybele was;
(The spouse of Saturn, who gain’d such applause
For all his exploits in the heavenly space,—
Described before with those of equal race;)—
She, as fair Vesta, is the bounteous globe;
[146]And came arrayed in spring’s delightful robe:
Her crown of towers pointed to the skies,
Which proved a landmark for a thousand eyes:
Of many flow’rs her vestment bore the print,
And charmed the eye with their impressive tint;
With her great key spring’s treasures she lets loose,
And with a generous hand deals them profuse’.
These
[147] formed the host of mourners that were bidden,
Beneath the cloudless concave of great heaven,
To bear their witness to the last remains
Of him, who now was past all mortal pains.
(Though not a cloud that day
[148] was ever seen,
Sol wore a halo, and look’d very dim,—
The only way the god could mark his love,
As through the heavens he slowly seem’d to move,
Towards the one who’d revelled in his ray,
And welcomed him at each successive day.)
But now the hour was fast approaching when
They expected forth the sad and sombre train:
There stood Apollo, foremost on the plain,
To watch with his bewitching eyes, the vast
Terrestrial space. At length he heard a blast,
Which Boreas bore towards th’ assembled throng;
And furthermore, he heard the mournful song,
As they advanc’d upon the wings of woe:
(’Round and about the corpse tears freely flow,
For gods and goddesses, resplendent clad,
Turn’d deathly pale, and certainly look’d sad:)
Swift as the winds would bear them, on they came;
In front a herald to proclaim the name
Of the deceasèd god. “Behold,” he said,
“This body here upon the field now laid,
Is that of Bacchus, the great god of wine,
Who till’d the ground, and rear’d the lovely vine;
The great dictator of the heathen laws:
His numerous talents gain’d him much applause:
Wise, though lascivious, he to powèr grew;
Was surnam’d Bassareus, and Iacchus, too:
Built many cities, and won victories:
The benefactor of societies:
Son of great Jupiter,—Semele’s child,—
On whom, in early life, Silenus smil’d;
And whom the nymphs embraced with filial love,
Through which they gain’d their access unto Jove:
Phœnicia’s King,—his wisdom he unfurl’d;
His subjects taught to navigate the world,
For which—and other exploits—thus shall he
Be grandly welcom’d to Eternity:”—
And then he blew his trumpet, call’d aloud—
“Bear witness to the deed, ye assembled crowd,
Whilst I the fallen god’s remains enshroud.”
Then, as they alight upon th’ adjacent ground,
Five hundred horse sent forth a trampling sound;
And mighty Hercules was in the rear
(For not another god could bear the gear)—
High in the air, upon the funeral car,
His helmet shining like a glorious star:
From his great beam a scream resound the skies
As they progress—swift as an eagle flies.
With him came Mors, who gave two heavy sighs;
A hundred deaths she had attended to,
But never one like this—so fraught with woe!
Her vesture hanging in loose folds of black,
Her hair all straighten’d o’er her graceful back,
Betokened grief; she ne’er conceived to crave
Poor Bacchus for the dread and dismal grave:
No, no, ’twas he himself,—his great excess,
That brought upon the earth such dire distress:
Yea, had he been a little circumspect,
Another thousand years his brow may’ve deck’d;
But his lascivious habits, silly god,
Brought him thus soon to grace the viny sod.