Metamorphoses: Book The Ninth Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCDEEBBFFBBCGHHII CCJJKKLMNNBBOOBBOOCD AAAABBDDAAOOBBPPQMRD BBSBBTTFFBBUUAAVWWBB ODOOXXDDYYOOBBZZAAOO BBOOADDAABBDDA2AABBB BBBBBAJ| Theseus requests the God to tell his woes | A |
| Whence his maim'd brow and whence his groans arose | A |
| Whence thus the Calydonian stream reply'd | B |
| With twining reeds his careless tresses ty'd | B |
| Ungrateful is the tale for who can bear | C |
| When conquer'd to rehearse the shameful war | D |
| Yet I'll the melancholy story trace | E |
| So great a conqu'ror softens the disgrace | E |
| Nor was it still so mean the prize to yield | B |
| As great and glorious to dispute the field | B |
| The Story of Perhaps you've heard of Deianira's name | F |
| Achelous and For all the country spoke her beauty's fame | F |
| Hercules Long was the nymph by num'rous suitors woo'd | B |
| Each with address his envy'd hopes pursu'd | B |
| I joyn'd the loving band to gain the fair | C |
| Reveal'd my passion to her father's ear | G |
| Their vain pretensions all the rest resign | H |
| Alcides only strove to equal mine | H |
| He boasts his birth from Jove recounts his spoils | I |
| His step dame's hate subdu'd and finish'd toils | I |
| Can mortals then said I with Gods compare | C |
| Behold a God mine is the watry care | C |
| Through your wide realms I take my mazy way | J |
| Branch into streams and o'er the region stray | J |
| No foreign guest your daughter's charms adores | K |
| But one who rises in your native shores | K |
| Let not his punishment your pity move | L |
| Is Juno's hate an argument for love | M |
| Though you your life from fair Alcmena drew | N |
| Jove's a feign'd father or by fraud a true | N |
| Chuse then confess thy mother's honour lost | B |
| Or thy descent from Jove no longer boast | B |
| While thus I spoke he look'd with stern disdain | O |
| Nor could the sallies of his wrath restrain | O |
| Which thus break forth This arm decides our right | B |
| Vanquish in words be mine the prize in fight | B |
| Bold he rush'd on My honour to maintain | O |
| I fling my verdant garments on the plain | O |
| My arms stretch forth my pliant limbs prepare | C |
| And with bent hands expect the furious war | D |
| O'er my sleek skin now gather'd dust he throws | A |
| And yellow sand his mighty muscles strows | A |
| Oft he my neck and nimble legs assails | A |
| He seems to grasp me but as often fails | A |
| Each part he now invades with eager hand | B |
| Safe in my bulk immoveable I stand | B |
| So when loud storms break high and foam and roar | D |
| Against some mole that stretches from the shore | D |
| The firm foundation lasting tempests braves | A |
| Defies the warring winds and driving waves | A |
| A while we breathe then forward rush amain | O |
| Renew the combat and our ground maintain | O |
| Foot strove with foot I prone extend my breast | B |
| Hands war with hands and forehead forehead prest | B |
| Thus have I seen two furious bulls engage | P |
| Inflam'd with equal love and equal rage | P |
| Each claims the fairest heifer of the grove | Q |
| And conquest only can decide their love | M |
| The trembling herds survey the fight from far | R |
| 'Till victory decides th' important war | D |
| Three times in vain he strove my joints to wrest | B |
| To force my hold and throw me from his breast | B |
| The fourth he broke my gripe that clasp'd him | S |
| round | B |
| Then with new force he stretch'd me on the ground | B |
| Close to my back the mighty burthen clung | T |
| As if a mountain o'er my limbs were flung | T |
| Believe my tale nor do I boastful aim | F |
| By feign'd narration to extol my fame | F |
| No sooner from his grasp I freedom get | B |
| Unlock my arms that flow'd with trickling sweat | B |
| But quick he seized me and renew'd the strife | U |
| As my exhausted bosom pants for life | U |
| My neck he gripes my knee to earth he strains | A |
| I fall and bite the sand with shame and pains | A |
| O'er match'd in strength to wiles and arts I | V |
| take | W |
| And slip his hold in form of speckled snake | W |
| Who when I wreath'd in spires my body round | B |
| Or show'd my forky tongue with hissing sound | B |
| Smiles at my threats Such foes my cradle knew | O |
| He cries dire snakes my infant hand o'erthrew | D |
| A dragon's form might other conquests gain | O |
| To war with me you take that shape in vain | O |
| Art thou proportion'd to the Hydra's length | X |
| Who by his wounds receiv'd augmented strength | X |
| He rais'd a hundred hissing heads in air | D |
| When one I lopt up sprung a dreadful pair | D |
| By his wounds fertile and with slaughter strong | Y |
| Singly I quell'd him and stretch'd dead along | Y |
| What canst thou do a form precarious prone | O |
| To rouse my rage with terrors not thy own | O |
| He said and round my neck his hands he cast | B |
| And with his straining fingers wrung me fast | B |
| My throat he tortur'd close as pincers clasp | Z |
| In vain I strove to loose the forceful grasp | Z |
| Thus vanquish'd too a third form still remains | A |
| Chang'd to a bull my lowing fills the plains | A |
| Strait on the left his nervous arms were thrown | O |
| Upon my brindled neck and tugg'd it down | O |
| Then deep he struck my horn into the sand | B |
| And fell'd my bulk among the dusty land | B |
| Nor yet his fury cool'd 'twixt rage and scorn | O |
| From my maim'd front he tore the stubborn horn | O |
| This heap'd with flow'rs and fruits the Naiads | A |
| bear | D |
| Sacred to plenty and the bounteous year | D |
| He spoke when lo a beauteous nymph appears | A |
| Girt like Diana's train with flowing hairs | A |
| The horn she brings in which all Autumn's stor'd | B |
| And ruddy apples for the second board | B |
| Now morn begins to dawn the sun's bright fire | D |
| Gilds the high mountains and the youths retire | D |
| Nor stay'd they 'till the troubled stream | A2 |
| subsides | A |
| And in its bounds with peaceful current glides | A |
| But Achelous in his oozy bed | B |
| Deep hides his brow deform'd and rustick head | B |
| No real wound the victor's triumph show'd | B |
| But his lost honours griev'd the watry God | B |
| Yet ev'n that loss the willow's leaves o'erspread | B |
| And verdant reeds in garlands bind his head | B |
| The Death of This virgin too thy love O Nessus found | B |
| Nessus the To her alone you owe the fatal wound | B |
| Centaur As the strong son of Jove his bride conveys | A |
| Whe | J |
Ovid
(1)
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