Classic Poem

P YGMALION , once a famous Cyprian Lord,
All woman-kind, but most a wife abhorr'd;
And rather chose to lead a single life,
Than taste the nuptial pleasures of a wife;
But choosing to employ his time aright,
In works of sculpture took immense delight;
And carv'd in ivory a maid so fair,
That nature could not with his art compare!
Were nature to employ her utmost skill,
Here she might copy, but could ne'er excell.
Pleas'd with his idol, he commends each part,
And longs t' enjoy the product of his art;
A perfect virgin in her face appear'd,
Compleat in ev'ry beauty, had she stirr'd;
One would have thought she could have mov'd, but she
Withheld her steps to shew her modesty.
P YGMALION'S art so well perform'd the piece,
He lov'd, ador'd, nor could his fondness cease.
He knows 'tis phrensy thus to love in vain,
Nor can the lover yet his love restrain;
The flesh, or what the carver thinks is such,
He vainly thinks seems softer at each touch!
Pleas'd with the thought, he kiss'd the torpid dame,
To ease his breast and mitigate his flame,
But still the harden'd breast remains the same.
And now, with eyes entranc'd, he gazes on,
Yet thinks it mean to term the virgin stone.
P YGMALION thinks the kiss more sweetly warms,
Then hugs the stubborn idol in his arms;
But squeezing hard, he back recoils with fear,
Lest he should hurt the thing he lov'd most dear.
Large treasures to the marble he presents,
With orient pearls, and gold, love's instruments.
Within her chamber he conceals her store,
The thicken'd shelves an ample burden bore;
Here birds, endow'd with speech, were plac'd on high,
And birds, whose notes were heard melodiously:
Here fragrant flow'rs of ev'ry kind were mixt,
And scented amber thickly strew'd betwixt;
Rich robes were round her beauteous body plac'd,
While rings her ears, her neck a collar grac'd,
And an embroider'd zone surrounds her waist.
Thus like a queen the idol is array'd,
With ev'ry grace but most the best display'd;
The maid he lays on an erected bed,
With coverings of Sydonian purple spread,
Himself perform'd the rites, he calls her bride,
Then takes the stubborn virgin to his side,
As tho' she had indeed a thinking mind,
Her head on downy pillows was reclin'd.
Now came at last great Venus ' festal day,
To which the Cyprians due devotion pay,
With gilded horns, (the priest) the heifer brings,
Whilst from his wound the blood impetuous springs;
P YGMALION , with his off'ring, first was there,
When thus to Heav'n he made his frantic pray'r: —
If all we mortals want you can supply,
Be your's the task, O Gods! to satisfy;
Give me my wife I wish, one like , he said,
But durst not say, Give me my iv'ry maid!
The beauteous Venus , present at the feast,
Heard his complaint, and soon the meaning guess'd;
The heav'nly strumpet deigns to condescend,
For thrice in chearful spires the flames ascend;
Swift to to the iv'ry maid the youth returns,
Whilst in his heart and eyes, love's passion burns;
He rears her head, and views each lively charm,
He kiss'd her oft, as oft she feels more warm;
Next with his hand her marble breast he tries,
And every sense of feel and sight applies;
Hard as it was before, yet now not such,
Relenting grown, and soft'ning with each touch;
Yet misbelieving still, he tries again,
The mark he sees, the dint appears more plain,
Like pliant wax, which working hands reduce,
With heat of fire dissolv'd and form'd for use.
He would believe, but hinder'd in suspense,
He summons every argument of sense;
The veins beneath his hand's impression beat,
A living virgin, full of juice and heat!
The Cyprian Prince, astonish'd at the change,
Thanks her that wrought a miracle so strange;
When, freed from fear, he now renews the bliss,
And feels more sweetness in the real kiss.
His lips to her's he joins, which seem to melt:
The blushing virgin now his kisses felt;
Then on a sudden open'd her bright eyes,
And view'd the light, and lover with surp.