Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
The Funeral of Memnon
13:841 Yet bright Aurora, partial as she was
13:842 To Troy, and those that lov'd the Trojan cause,
13:843 Nor Troy, nor Hecuba can now bemoan,
13:844 But weeps a sad misfortune, more her own.
13:845 Her offspring Memnon, by Achilles slain,
13:846 She saw extended on the Phrygian plain:
13:847 She saw, and strait the purple beams, that grace
13:848 The rosie morning, vanish'd from her face;
13:849 A deadly pale her wonted bloom invades,
13:850 And veils the lowring skies with mournful shades.
13:851 But when his limbs upon the pile were laid,
13:852 The last kind duty that by friends is paid,
13:853 His mother to the skies directs her flight,
13:854 Nor cou'd sustain to view the doleful sight:
13:855 But frantick, with her loose neglected hair,
13:856 Hastens to Jove, and falls a suppliant there.
13:857 O king of Heav'n, o father of the skies,
13:858 The weeping Goddess passionately cries,
13:859 Tho' I the meanest of immortals am,
13:860 And fewest temples celebrate my fame,
13:861 Yet still a Goddess, I presume to come
13:862 Within the verge of your etherial dome:
13:863 Yet still may plead some merit, if my light
13:864 With purple dawn controuls the Pow'rs of night;
13:865 If from a female hand that virtue springs,
13:866 Which to the Gods, and men such pleasure brings.
13:867 Yet I nor honours seek, nor rites divine,
13:868 Nor for more altars, or more fanes repine;
13:869 Oh! that such trifles were the only cause,
13:870 From whence Aurora's mind its anguish draws!
13:871 For Memnon lost, my dearest only child,
13:872 With weightier grief my heavy heart is fill'd;
13:873 My warrior son! that liv'd but half his time,
13:874 Nipt in the bud, and blasted in his prime;
13:875 Who for his uncle early took the field,
13:876 And by Achilles' fatal spear was kill'd.
13:877 To whom but Jove shou'd I for succour come?
13:878 For Jove alone cou'd fix his cruel doom.
13:879 O sov'reign of the Gods accept my pray'r,
13:880 Grant my request, and sooth a mother's care;
13:881 On the deceas'd some solemn boon bestow,
13:882 To expiate the loss, and ease my woe.
13:883 Jove, with a nod, comply'd with her desire;
13:884 Around the body flam'd the fun'ral fire;
13:885 The pile decreas'd, that lately seem'd so high,
13:886 And sheets of smoak roll'd upward to the sky:
13:887 As humid vapours from a marshy bog,
13:888 Rise by degrees, condensing into fog,
13:889 That intercept the sun's enliv'ning ray,
13:890 And with a cloud infect the chearful day.
13:891 The sooty ashes wafted by the air,
13:892 Whirl round, and thicken in a body there;
13:893 Then take a form, which their own heat, and fire
13:894 With active life, and energy inspire.
13:895 Its lightness makes it seem to fly, and soon
13:896 It skims on real wings, that are its own;
13:897 A real bird, it beats the breezy wind,
13:898 Mix'd with a thousand sisters of the kind,
13:899 That, from the same formation newly sprung,
13:900 Up-born aloft on plumy pinions hung.
13:901 Thrice round the pile advanc'd the circling throng.
13:902 Thrice, with their wings, a whizzing consort rung.
13:903 In the fourth flight their squadron they divide,
13:904 Rank'd in two diff'rent troops, on either side:
13:905 Then two, and two, inspir'd with martial rage,
13:906 From either troop in equal pairs engage.
13:907 Each combatant with beak, and pounces press'd,
13:908 In wrathful ire, his adversary's breast;
13:909 Each falls a victim, to preserve the fame
13:910 Of that great hero, whence their being came.
13:911 From him their courage, and their name they take,
13:912 And, as they liv'd, they dye for Memnon's sake.
13:913 Punctual to time, with each revolving year,
13:914 In fresh array the champion birds appear;
13:915 Again, prepar'd with vengeful minds, they come
13:916 To bleed, in honour of the souldier's tomb.
13:917 Therefore in others it appear'd not strange,
13:918 To grieve for Hecuba's unhappy change:
13:919 But poor Aurora had enough to do
13:920 With her own loss, to mind another's woe;
13:921 Who still in tears, her tender nature shews,
13:922 Besprinkling all the world with pearly dews.
Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
The Funeral of Memnon
13:841 Yet bright Aurora, partial as she was
13:842 To Troy, and those that lov'd the Trojan cause,
13:843 Nor Troy, nor Hecuba can now bemoan,
13:844 But weeps a sad misfortune, more her own.
13:845 Her offspring Memnon, by Achilles slain,
13:846 She saw extended on the Phrygian plain:
13:847 She saw, and strait the purple beams, that grace
13:848 The rosie morning, vanish'd from her face;
13:849 A deadly pale her wonted bloom invades,
13:850 And veils the lowring skies with mournful shades.
13:851 But when his limbs upon the pile were laid,
13:852 The last kind duty that by friends is paid,
13:853 His mother to the skies directs her flight,
13:854 Nor cou'd sustain to view the doleful sight:
13:855 But frantick, with her loose neglected hair,
13:856 Hastens to Jove, and falls a suppliant there.
13:857 O king of Heav'n, o father of the skies,
13:858 The weeping Goddess passionately cries,
13:859 Tho' I the meanest of immortals am,
13:860 And fewest temples celebrate my fame,
13:861 Yet still a Goddess, I presume to come
13:862 Within the verge of your etherial dome:
13:863 Yet still may plead some merit, if my light
13:864 With purple dawn controuls the Pow'rs of night;
13:865 If from a female hand that virtue springs,
13:866 Which to the Gods, and men such pleasure brings.
13:867 Yet I nor honours seek, nor rites divine,
13:868 Nor for more altars, or more fanes repine;
13:869 Oh! that such trifles were the only cause,
13:870 From whence Aurora's mind its anguish draws!
13:871 For Memnon lost, my dearest only child,
13:872 With weightier grief my heavy heart is fill'd;
13:873 My warrior son! that liv'd but half his time,
13:874 Nipt in the bud, and blasted in his prime;
13:875 Who for his uncle early took the field,
13:876 And by Achilles' fatal spear was kill'd.
13:877 To whom but Jove shou'd I for succour come?
13:878 For Jove alone cou'd fix his cruel doom.
13:879 O sov'reign of the Gods accept my pray'r,
13:880 Grant my request, and sooth a mother's care;
13:881 On the deceas'd some solemn boon bestow,
13:882 To expiate the loss, and ease my woe.
13:883 Jove, with a nod, comply'd with her desire;
13:884 Around the body flam'd the fun'ral fire;
13:885 The pile decreas'd, that lately seem'd so high,
13:886 And sheets of smoak roll'd upward to the sky:
13:887 As humid vapours from a marshy bog,
13:888 Rise by degrees, condensing into fog,
13:889 That intercept the sun's enliv'ning ray,
13:890 And with a cloud infect the chearful day.
13:891 The sooty ashes wafted by the air,
13:892 Whirl round, and thicken in a body there;
13:893 Then take a form, which their own heat, and fire
13:894 With active life, and energy inspire.
13:895 Its lightness makes it seem to fly, and soon
13:896 It skims on real wings, that are its own;
13:897 A real bird, it beats the breezy wind,
13:898 Mix'd with a thousand sisters of the kind,
13:899 That, from the same formation newly sprung,
13:900 Up-born aloft on plumy pinions hung.
13:901 Thrice round the pile advanc'd the circling throng.
13:902 Thrice, with their wings, a whizzing consort rung.
13:903 In the fourth flight their squadron they divide,
13:904 Rank'd in two diff'rent troops, on either side:
13:905 Then two, and two, inspir'd with martial rage,
13:906 From either troop in equal pairs engage.
13:907 Each combatant with beak, and pounces press'd,
13:908 In wrathful ire, his adversary's breast;
13:909 Each falls a victim, to preserve the fame
13:910 Of that great hero, whence their being came.
13:911 From him their courage, and their name they take,
13:912 And, as they liv'd, they dye for Memnon's sake.
13:913 Punctual to time, with each revolving year,
13:914 In fresh array the champion birds appear;
13:915 Again, prepar'd with vengeful minds, they come
13:916 To bleed, in honour of the souldier's tomb.
13:917 Therefore in others it appear'd not strange,
13:918 To grieve for Hecuba's unhappy change:
13:919 But poor Aurora had enough to do
13:920 With her own loss, to mind another's woe;
13:921 Who still in tears, her tender nature shews,
13:922 Besprinkling all the world with pearly dews.