T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Pygmalion and the Statue
By Ovid (43 B.C.18 A.D.)(Translated by John Dryden. Metamorphoses, Book x.)
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PYGMALION, loathing their lascivious Life, | |
Abhorred all Womankind, but most a Wife: | |
So single chose to live, and shunned to wed, | |
Well pleased to want a Consort of his Bed; | |
Yet fearing Idleness, the Nurse of ill, | 5 |
In Sculpture exercised his happy Skill; | |
And carved in Ivory such a Maid, so fair, | |
As Nature could not with his Art compare, | |
Were she to work; but in her own Defence, | |
Must take her Pattern here, and copy hence. | 10 |
Pleased with his Idol, he commends, admires, | |
Adores; and last, the Thing adored, desires. | |
A very Virgin in her Face was seen, | |
And had she moved, a living Maid had been: | |
One would have thought she could have stirred; but strove | 15 |
With Modesty, and was ashamed to move. | |
Art hid with Art, so well performed the Cheat, | |
It caught the Carver with his own Deceit: | |
He knows ’tis Madness, yet he must adore, | |
And still the more he knows it, loves the more: | 20 |
The Flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, | |
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft. | |
Fired with this Thought, at once he strained the Breast, | |
And on the Lips a burning Kiss impressed. | |
’Tis true, the hardened Breast resists the Gripe, | 25 |
And the cold Lips return a Kiss unripe: | |
But when, retiring back, he looked again, | |
To think it Ivory was a thought too mean: | |
So would believe she kissed, and courting more, | |
Again embraced her naked Body o’er; | 30 |
And straining hard the Statue, was afraid | |
His Hands had made a Dint, and hurt his Maid: | |
Explored her, Limb by Limb, and feared to find | |
So rude a Gripe had left a livid Mark behind: | |
With Flatt’ry now he seeks her Mind to move, | 35 |
And now with Gifts (the powerful Bribes of Love): | |
He furnishes her Closet first; and fills | |
The crowded Shelves with Rarities of Shells; | |
Adds Orient Pearls, which from the Conchs he drew, | |
And all the sparkling Stones of various Hue: | 40 |
And Parrots, imitating Humane Tongue, | |
And singing-birds in Silver Cages hung; | |
And ev’ry fragrant Flower, and odorous Green, | |
Were sorted well, with Lumps of Amber laid between: | |
Rich, fashionable Robes her person Deck: | 45 |
Pendants her Ears, and Pearls adorn her Neck: | |
Her tapered Fingers too with Rings are graced, | |
And an embroidered Zone surrounds her slender Waist. | |
Thus like a Queen arrayed, so richly dressed, | |
Beauteous she shewed, but naked shewed the best. | 50 |
Then, from the Floor, he raised a Royal Bed, | |
With Cov’rings of Sydonian Purple spread: | |
The Solemn Rites performed, he calls her Bride, | |
With Blandishments invites her to his Side, | |
And as she were with Vital Sense possessed, | 55 |
Her Head did on a plumy Pillow rest. | |
The Feast of Venus came, a Solemn Day, | |
To which the Cypriots due Devotion pay; | |
With gilded Horns the Milk-white Heifers led, | |
Slaughtered before the sacred Altars, bled: | 60 |
Pygmalion offering, first approached the Shrine, | |
And then with Pray’rs implored the Powers Divine: | |
Almighty Gods, if all we Mortals want, | |
If all we can require, be yours to grant; | |
Make this fair Statue mine, he would have said, | 65 |
But changed his Words for shame; and only prayed, | |
Give me the Likeness of my Ivory Maid. | |
The Golden Goddess, present at the Prayer, | |
Well knew he meant th’ inanimated Fair, | |
And gave the Sign of granting his Desire; | 70 |
For thrice in cheerful Flames ascends the Fire. | |
The Youth, returning to his Mistress, hies, | |
And, impudent in Hope, with ardent Eyes, | |
And beating Breast, by the dear Statue lies. | |
He kisses her white Lips, renews the Bliss, | 75 |
And looks and thinks they redden at the Kiss: | |
He thought them warm before: Nor longer stays, | |
But next his Hand on her hard Bosom lays: | |
Hard as it was, beginning to relent, | |
It seemed the Breast beneath his Fingers bent; | 80 |
He felt again, his Fingers made a Print, | |
’Twas Flesh, but Flesh so firm, it rose against the Dint: | |
The pleasing Task he fails not to renew; | |
Soft, and more soft at every Touch it grew; | |
Like pliant Wax, when chafing Hands reduce | 85 |
The former Mass to Form, and frame to Use. | |
He would believe, but yet is still in pain, | |
And tries his Argument of Sense again, | |
Presses the Pulse, and feels the leaping Vein. | |
Convinced, o’erjoyed, his studied Thanks and Praise, | 90 |
To her who made the Miracle, he pays: | |
Then Lips to Lips he joined; now freed from Fear, | |
He found the Savour of the Kiss sincere: | |
At this the wakened image oped her Eyes, | |
And viewed at once the Light and Lover, with surprise. | 95 |
The Goddess present at the Match she made, | |
So blessed the Bed, such Fruitfulness conveyed, | |
That e’er ten Moons had sharpened either Horn, | |
To crown their Bliss, a lovely Boy was born; | |
Paphos his Name, who, grown to Manhood, walled | 100 |
The City Paphos, from the Founder called. | |