Near where his purple head Hymettus shows,
And flow'ring hills, a sacred fountain flows;
With soft and verdant turf the soil is spread,
And sweetly smelling shrubs the ground o'ershade.
There rosemary and bays their odours join,
And with the fragrant myrtle's scent combine.
There tamarisks with thick-leav'd box are found,
And cytisus and garden pines abound.
While through the boughs soft winds of Zephyr pass,
Tremble the leaves and tender tops of grass.
Hither would Cephalus retreat to rest,
When tir'd with hunting, or with heat oppress'd;
And, thus, to air the panting youth would pray;
Come, gentle Aura, come, this heat allay."
But some tale-bearing too officious friend,
By chance o'erheard him as he thus complain'd;
Who with the news to Procris quick repair'd,
Repeating word for word what she had heard.
Soon as the news of Aura reach'd her ears,
With jealousy surpris'd. and fainting fears,
Her rosy colour fled her lovely face,
And agonies like death supplied the place;
Pale she appear'd as are the falling leaves
When first the vine the winter's blast receives.
Of ripen'd quinces, such the yellow hue,
Or, when unripe, we cornel-berries view.
Reviving from her swoon, her robes she tore,
Nor her own faultless face to wound forbore;
Now all dishevell'd to the woods she flies,
With Bacchanalian fury in her eyes.139
Thither arriv'd, she leaves below her friends,
And all alone the shady hill ascends.
What fully, Procris, o'er thy mind prevail'd?
What rage, thus fatally to lie conceal'd?
"Who'er this Aura be," such was thy thought,
"She now shall in the very fact be caught "
Anon thy heart repents its rash designs,
And now to go, and now to stay, inclines;
Thus love with doubts perplexes still thy mind,
And makes thee seek what thou must dread to find.
But still the rival's name rings in thy ears,
And more suspicious still the place appears;
But more than all, excessive love deceives,
Which all it fears too easily believes.
And now a chillness runs thro' ev'ry vein,
Soon as she saw where Cephalus had lain.
'Twas noon when he again retir'd, to shun
The scorching ardour of the mid-day's sun;
With water first he sprinkled o'er his face
Which glow'd with heat; then sought his usual place.
Procris, with anxious but with silent care,
View'd him extended, with his bosom bare;
And heard him soon th' accustom'd words repeat,
" Come Zephyr, Aura come, allay this heat."
Soon as she found her error, from the word,
Her colour and her temper were restor'd;
With joy she rose to clasp him in her arms,
But Cephalus the rustling noise alarms;
Some beast he thinks he in the bushes hears,
And straight his arrows and his bow prepares.
Hold, hold, unhappy youth!-I call in vain;
With thy own hand thou hast thy Procris slain
" Me, me," she cries, " thou'st wounded with thy dart;
But Cephalus was wont to wound this heart.
Yet lighter on my ashes earth will lie,
Since, tho' untimely, I unrivall'd die!
Come, close with thy dear hand my eyes in death;
Jealous of air, to air I yield my breath."
Close to his heavy heart her cheek he laid,
And wash'd with streaming tears the wound he made;
At length the springs of life their currents leave,
And her last gasp her husband's lips receive.
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