Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
The Fable of Midas
11:130 Nor this suffic'd; the God's disgust remains,
11:131 And he resolves to quit their hated plains;
11:132 The vineyards of Tymole ingross his care,
11:133 And, with a better choir, he fixes there;
11:134 Where the smooth streams of clear Pactolus roll'd,
11:135 Then undistinguish'd for its sands of gold.
11:136 The satyrs with the nymphs, his usual throng,
11:137 Come to salute their God, and jovial danc'd along.
11:138 Silenus only miss'd; for while he reel'd,
11:139 Feeble with age, and wine, about the field,
11:140 The hoary drunkard had forgot his way,
11:141 And to the Phrygian clowns became a prey;
11:142 Who to king Midas drag the captive God,
11:143 While on his totty pate the wreaths of ivy nod.
11:144 Midas from Orpheus had been taught his lore,
11:145 And knew the rites of Bacchus long before.
11:146 He, when he saw his venerable guest,
11:147 In honour of the God ordain'd a feast.
11:148 Ten days in course, with each continu'd night,
11:149 Were spent in genial mirth, and brisk delight:
11:150 Then on th' eleventh, when with brighter ray
11:151 Phosphor had chac'd the fading stars away,
11:152 The king thro' Lydia's fields young Bacchus sought,
11:153 And to the God his foster-father brought.
11:154 Pleas'd with the welcome sight, he bids him soon
11:155 But name his wish, and swears to grant the boon.
11:156 A glorious offer! yet but ill bestow'd
11:157 On him whose choice so little judgment show'd.
11:158 Give me, says he (nor thought he ask'd too much),
11:159 That with my body whatsoe'er I touch,
11:160 Chang'd from the nature which it held of old,
11:161 May be converted into yellow gold.
11:162 He had his wish; but yet the God repin'd,
11:163 To think the fool no better wish could find.
11:164 But the brave king departed from the place,
11:165 With smiles of gladness sparkling in his face:
11:166 Nor could contain, but, as he took his way,
11:167 Impatient longs to make the first essay.
11:168 Down from a lowly branch a twig he drew,
11:169 The twig strait glitter'd with a golden hue:
11:170 He takes a stone, the stone was turn'd to gold;
11:171 A clod he touches, and the crumbling mold
11:172 Acknowledg'd soon the great transforming pow'r,
11:173 In weight and substance like a mass of ore.
11:174 He pluck'd the corn, and strait his grasp appears
11:175 Fill'd with a bending tuft of golden ears.
11:176 An apple next he takes, and seems to hold
11:177 The bright Hesperian vegetable gold.
11:178 His hand he careless on a pillar lays.
11:179 With shining gold the fluted pillars blaze:
11:180 And while he washes, as the servants pour,
11:181 His touch converts the stream to Danae's show'r.
11:182 To see these miracles so finely wrought,
11:183 Fires with transporting joy his giddy thought.
11:184 The ready slaves prepare a sumptuous board,
11:185 Spread with rich dainties for their happy lord;
11:186 Whose pow'rful hands the bread no sooner hold,
11:187 But its whole substance is transform'd to gold:
11:188 Up to his mouth he lifts the sav'ry meat,
11:189 Which turns to gold as he attempts to eat:
11:190 His patron's noble juice of purple hue,
11:191 Touch'd by his lips, a gilded cordial grew;
11:192 Unfit for drink, and wondrous to behold,
11:193 It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.
11:194 The rich poor fool, confounded with surprize,
11:195 Starving in all his various plenty lies:
11:196 Sick of his wish, he now detests the pow'r,
11:197 For which he ask'd so earnestly before;
11:198 Amidst his gold with pinching famine curst;
11:199 And justly tortur'd with an equal thirst.
11:200 At last his shining arms to Heav'n he rears,
11:201 And in distress, for refuge, flies to pray'rs.
11:202 O father Bacchus, I have sinn'd, he cry'd,
11:203 And foolishly thy gracious gift apply'd;
11:204 Thy pity now, repenting, I implore;
11:205 Oh! may I feel the golden plague no more.
11:206 The hungry wretch, his folly thus confest,
11:207 Touch'd the kind deity's good-natur'd breast;
11:208 The gentle God annull'd his first decree,
11:209 And from the cruel compact set him free.
11:210 But then, to cleanse him quite from further harm,
11:211 And to dilute the relicks of the charm,
11:212 He bids him seek the stream that cuts the land
11:213 Nigh where the tow'rs of Lydian Sardis stand;
11:214 Then trace the river to the fountain head,
11:215 And meet it rising from its rocky bed;
11:216 There, as the bubling tide pours forth amain,
11:217 To plunge his body in, and wash away the stain.
11:218 The king instructed to the fount retires,
11:219 But with the golden charm the stream inspires:
11:220 For while this quality the man forsakes,
11:221 An equal pow'r the limpid water takes;
11:222 Informs with veins of gold the neighb'ring land,
11:223 And glides along a bed of golden sand.
11:224 Now loathing wealth, th' occasion of his woes,
11:225 Far in the woods he sought a calm repose;
11:226 In caves and grottos, where the nymphs resort,
11:227 And keep with mountain Pan their sylvan court.
11:228 Ah! had he left his stupid soul behind!
11:229 But his condition alter'd not his mind.
11:230 For where high Tmolus rears his shady brow,
11:231 And from his cliffs surveys the seas below,
11:232 In his descent, by Sardis bounded here,
11:233 By the small confines of Hypaepa there,
11:234 Pan to the nymphs his frolick ditties play'd,
11:235 Tuning his reeds beneath the chequer'd shade.
11:236 The nymphs are pleas'd, the boasting sylvan plays,
11:237 And speaks with slight of great Apollo's lays.
11:238 Tmolus was arbiter; the boaster still
11:239 Accepts the tryal with unequal skill.
11:240 The venerable judge was seated high
11:241 On his own hill, that seem'd to touch the sky.
11:242 Above the whisp'ring trees his head he rears,
11:243 From their encumbring boughs to free his ears;
11:244 A wreath of oak alone his temples bound,
11:245 The pendant acorns loosely dangled round.
11:246 In me your judge, says he, there's no delay:
11:247 Then bids the goatherd God begin, and play.
11:248 Pan tun'd the pipe, and with his rural song
11:249 Pleas'd the low taste of all the vulgar throng;
11:250 Such songs a vulgar judgment mostly please,
11:251 Midas was there, and Midas judg'd with these.
11:252 The mountain sire with grave deportment now
11:253 To Phoebus turns his venerable brow:
11:254 And, as he turns, with him the listning wood
11:255 In the same posture of attention stood.
11:256 The God his own Parnassian laurel crown'd,
11:257 And in a wreath his golden tresses bound,
11:258 Graceful his purple mantle swept the ground.
11:259 High on the left his iv'ry lute he rais'd,
11:260 The lute, emboss'd with glitt'ring jewels, blaz'd
11:261 In his right hand he nicely held the quill,
11:262 His easy posture spoke a master's skill.
11:263 The strings he touch'd with more than human art,
11:264 Which pleas'd the judge's ear, and sooth'd his heart;
11:265 Who soon judiciously the palm decreed,
11:266 And to the lute postpon'd the squeaking reed.
11:267 All, with applause, the rightful sentence heard,
11:268 Midas alone dissatisfy'd appear'd;
11:269 To him unjustly giv'n the judgment seems,
11:270 For Pan's barbarick notes he most esteems.
11:271 The lyrick God, who thought his untun'd ear
11:272 Deserv'd but ill a human form to wear,
11:273 Of that deprives him, and supplies the place
11:274 With some more fit, and of an ampler space:
11:275 Fix'd on his noddle an unseemly pair,
11:276 Flagging, and large, and full of whitish hair;
11:277 Without a total change from what he was,
11:278 Still in the man preserves the simple ass.
11:279 He, to conceal the scandal of the deed,
11:280 A purple turbant folds about his head;
11:281 Veils the reproach from publick view, and fears
11:282 The laughing world would spy his monstrous ears.
11:283 One trusty barber-slave, that us'd to dress
11:284 His master's hair, when lengthen'd to excess,
11:285 The mighty secret knew, but knew alone,
11:286 And, tho' impatient, durst not make it known.
11:287 Restless, at last, a private place he found,
11:288 Then dug a hole, and told it to the ground;
11:289 In a low whisper he reveal'd the case,
11:290 And cover'd in the earth, and silent left the place.
11:291 In time, of trembling reeds a plenteous crop
11:292 From the confided furrow sprouted up;
11:293 Which, high advancing with the ripening year,
11:294 Made known the tiller, and his fruitless care:
11:295 For then the rustling blades, and whisp'ring wind,
11:296 To tell th' important secret, both combin'd.
Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
The Fable of Midas
11:130 Nor this suffic'd; the God's disgust remains,
11:131 And he resolves to quit their hated plains;
11:132 The vineyards of Tymole ingross his care,
11:133 And, with a better choir, he fixes there;
11:134 Where the smooth streams of clear Pactolus roll'd,
11:135 Then undistinguish'd for its sands of gold.
11:136 The satyrs with the nymphs, his usual throng,
11:137 Come to salute their God, and jovial danc'd along.
11:138 Silenus only miss'd; for while he reel'd,
11:139 Feeble with age, and wine, about the field,
11:140 The hoary drunkard had forgot his way,
11:141 And to the Phrygian clowns became a prey;
11:142 Who to king Midas drag the captive God,
11:143 While on his totty pate the wreaths of ivy nod.
11:144 Midas from Orpheus had been taught his lore,
11:145 And knew the rites of Bacchus long before.
11:146 He, when he saw his venerable guest,
11:147 In honour of the God ordain'd a feast.
11:148 Ten days in course, with each continu'd night,
11:149 Were spent in genial mirth, and brisk delight:
11:150 Then on th' eleventh, when with brighter ray
11:151 Phosphor had chac'd the fading stars away,
11:152 The king thro' Lydia's fields young Bacchus sought,
11:153 And to the God his foster-father brought.
11:154 Pleas'd with the welcome sight, he bids him soon
11:155 But name his wish, and swears to grant the boon.
11:156 A glorious offer! yet but ill bestow'd
11:157 On him whose choice so little judgment show'd.
11:158 Give me, says he (nor thought he ask'd too much),
11:159 That with my body whatsoe'er I touch,
11:160 Chang'd from the nature which it held of old,
11:161 May be converted into yellow gold.
11:162 He had his wish; but yet the God repin'd,
11:163 To think the fool no better wish could find.
11:164 But the brave king departed from the place,
11:165 With smiles of gladness sparkling in his face:
11:166 Nor could contain, but, as he took his way,
11:167 Impatient longs to make the first essay.
11:168 Down from a lowly branch a twig he drew,
11:169 The twig strait glitter'd with a golden hue:
11:170 He takes a stone, the stone was turn'd to gold;
11:171 A clod he touches, and the crumbling mold
11:172 Acknowledg'd soon the great transforming pow'r,
11:173 In weight and substance like a mass of ore.
11:174 He pluck'd the corn, and strait his grasp appears
11:175 Fill'd with a bending tuft of golden ears.
11:176 An apple next he takes, and seems to hold
11:177 The bright Hesperian vegetable gold.
11:178 His hand he careless on a pillar lays.
11:179 With shining gold the fluted pillars blaze:
11:180 And while he washes, as the servants pour,
11:181 His touch converts the stream to Danae's show'r.
11:182 To see these miracles so finely wrought,
11:183 Fires with transporting joy his giddy thought.
11:184 The ready slaves prepare a sumptuous board,
11:185 Spread with rich dainties for their happy lord;
11:186 Whose pow'rful hands the bread no sooner hold,
11:187 But its whole substance is transform'd to gold:
11:188 Up to his mouth he lifts the sav'ry meat,
11:189 Which turns to gold as he attempts to eat:
11:190 His patron's noble juice of purple hue,
11:191 Touch'd by his lips, a gilded cordial grew;
11:192 Unfit for drink, and wondrous to behold,
11:193 It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.
11:194 The rich poor fool, confounded with surprize,
11:195 Starving in all his various plenty lies:
11:196 Sick of his wish, he now detests the pow'r,
11:197 For which he ask'd so earnestly before;
11:198 Amidst his gold with pinching famine curst;
11:199 And justly tortur'd with an equal thirst.
11:200 At last his shining arms to Heav'n he rears,
11:201 And in distress, for refuge, flies to pray'rs.
11:202 O father Bacchus, I have sinn'd, he cry'd,
11:203 And foolishly thy gracious gift apply'd;
11:204 Thy pity now, repenting, I implore;
11:205 Oh! may I feel the golden plague no more.
11:206 The hungry wretch, his folly thus confest,
11:207 Touch'd the kind deity's good-natur'd breast;
11:208 The gentle God annull'd his first decree,
11:209 And from the cruel compact set him free.
11:210 But then, to cleanse him quite from further harm,
11:211 And to dilute the relicks of the charm,
11:212 He bids him seek the stream that cuts the land
11:213 Nigh where the tow'rs of Lydian Sardis stand;
11:214 Then trace the river to the fountain head,
11:215 And meet it rising from its rocky bed;
11:216 There, as the bubling tide pours forth amain,
11:217 To plunge his body in, and wash away the stain.
11:218 The king instructed to the fount retires,
11:219 But with the golden charm the stream inspires:
11:220 For while this quality the man forsakes,
11:221 An equal pow'r the limpid water takes;
11:222 Informs with veins of gold the neighb'ring land,
11:223 And glides along a bed of golden sand.
11:224 Now loathing wealth, th' occasion of his woes,
11:225 Far in the woods he sought a calm repose;
11:226 In caves and grottos, where the nymphs resort,
11:227 And keep with mountain Pan their sylvan court.
11:228 Ah! had he left his stupid soul behind!
11:229 But his condition alter'd not his mind.
11:230 For where high Tmolus rears his shady brow,
11:231 And from his cliffs surveys the seas below,
11:232 In his descent, by Sardis bounded here,
11:233 By the small confines of Hypaepa there,
11:234 Pan to the nymphs his frolick ditties play'd,
11:235 Tuning his reeds beneath the chequer'd shade.
11:236 The nymphs are pleas'd, the boasting sylvan plays,
11:237 And speaks with slight of great Apollo's lays.
11:238 Tmolus was arbiter; the boaster still
11:239 Accepts the tryal with unequal skill.
11:240 The venerable judge was seated high
11:241 On his own hill, that seem'd to touch the sky.
11:242 Above the whisp'ring trees his head he rears,
11:243 From their encumbring boughs to free his ears;
11:244 A wreath of oak alone his temples bound,
11:245 The pendant acorns loosely dangled round.
11:246 In me your judge, says he, there's no delay:
11:247 Then bids the goatherd God begin, and play.
11:248 Pan tun'd the pipe, and with his rural song
11:249 Pleas'd the low taste of all the vulgar throng;
11:250 Such songs a vulgar judgment mostly please,
11:251 Midas was there, and Midas judg'd with these.
11:252 The mountain sire with grave deportment now
11:253 To Phoebus turns his venerable brow:
11:254 And, as he turns, with him the listning wood
11:255 In the same posture of attention stood.
11:256 The God his own Parnassian laurel crown'd,
11:257 And in a wreath his golden tresses bound,
11:258 Graceful his purple mantle swept the ground.
11:259 High on the left his iv'ry lute he rais'd,
11:260 The lute, emboss'd with glitt'ring jewels, blaz'd
11:261 In his right hand he nicely held the quill,
11:262 His easy posture spoke a master's skill.
11:263 The strings he touch'd with more than human art,
11:264 Which pleas'd the judge's ear, and sooth'd his heart;
11:265 Who soon judiciously the palm decreed,
11:266 And to the lute postpon'd the squeaking reed.
11:267 All, with applause, the rightful sentence heard,
11:268 Midas alone dissatisfy'd appear'd;
11:269 To him unjustly giv'n the judgment seems,
11:270 For Pan's barbarick notes he most esteems.
11:271 The lyrick God, who thought his untun'd ear
11:272 Deserv'd but ill a human form to wear,
11:273 Of that deprives him, and supplies the place
11:274 With some more fit, and of an ampler space:
11:275 Fix'd on his noddle an unseemly pair,
11:276 Flagging, and large, and full of whitish hair;
11:277 Without a total change from what he was,
11:278 Still in the man preserves the simple ass.
11:279 He, to conceal the scandal of the deed,
11:280 A purple turbant folds about his head;
11:281 Veils the reproach from publick view, and fears
11:282 The laughing world would spy his monstrous ears.
11:283 One trusty barber-slave, that us'd to dress
11:284 His master's hair, when lengthen'd to excess,
11:285 The mighty secret knew, but knew alone,
11:286 And, tho' impatient, durst not make it known.
11:287 Restless, at last, a private place he found,
11:288 Then dug a hole, and told it to the ground;
11:289 In a low whisper he reveal'd the case,
11:290 And cover'd in the earth, and silent left the place.
11:291 In time, of trembling reeds a plenteous crop
11:292 From the confided furrow sprouted up;
11:293 Which, high advancing with the ripening year,
11:294 Made known the tiller, and his fruitless care:
11:295 For then the rustling blades, and whisp'ring wind,
11:296 To tell th' important secret, both combin'd.