DEJANIRA having heard that Hercules was fallen in love with Iole, daughter of the king of Oechalia, whom he had lately vanquished and slain, and at the same time that he was dying by a poisoned shirt she had sent him, to recover as she had been told it would, his lost affection; between jealousy and rage for the first, and grief and despair for the latter, writes him the following epistle.
IN
your late triumphs I rejoice, and share
Your new renown, Oechalia's finish'd war.
But, should the victor to the vanquish'd yield!
Curst be the day that you the town compell'd.
Thro' Greece the rumour flies, nor faster fame
Proclaims your conquest, than she spreads your shame.
By your vile bonds your former life's defil'd,
And all the lustre of your labour soil'd:
Those labours you with matchless might o'ercame,
And Juno's hate, and rais'd a godlike name.
But to young löle's base yoke you bow;
Eurystheus now is pleas'd, and Juno now.
Nor will your step-mother be griev'd to hear
The blot indelible your fame will bear.
When Jove your mother for your birth enjoy'd, 15
The God, too little one, three nights employ'd.
But who'll believe the tale? for such a son
Might, surely, have been well conceiv'd in one.
Juno ne'er hurted you as Venus has,
She rais'd you when she purpos'd to depress.
But Venus on your neck her foot has plac'd,
And ne'er was hero more by love disgrac❜d.
From you, the world deliver'd, holds her peace,
By you the land's secure, and safe the seas.
Both houses of the sun your merit know,
And heav'n does more to you than Atlas owe.
Your strength did once the sinking stars sustain,
And save those orbs, where you at last shall reign.
Without you, he on whom the burden lies,
Had fall'n, and unsupported left the skies.
What have you done, but all your glory stain'd,
And lost the praise you with such peril gain'd?
Tell me no more what deeds you once could do,
Nor boast you in the cradle serpents slew.
Two horrid snakes that then to death you wrung,35
And prov'd the blood divine of which you sprung.
The man belies the God! your infant name
Is now forgotten, and your riper fame.
He, whom the son of Steneleus subdu'd,
And tam'd the fellest monsters of the wood,
Who long did Juno's hate undaunted prove,
He, to whom all things yielded, yields to love. What then? the thond'rer was your sire, 'tis said, And highly I am honour'd by your bed.
But as the plough an equal yoke requires,
So Hymen's torch should burn with equal fires,
And higher if my husband's in degree,
What do I gain? his greatness lessens me.
The worse in this a wife thus wedded fares,
And not an honour, but a burden bears,
Tho' the name flatters, and the brightness glares.
She that weds well, will wisely match her love,
Nor be below her husband, nor above.
My lord so seldom in my house I see,
A stranger I should know as soon as he.
To war with dreadful monsters he delights,
And with the fiercest of the forest fights.
While I a widow's life in wedlock lead,
And mourn with fruitless tears my injur'd bed.
Oft my chaste vows for him to heav'n I pay,
The dangers to avert, my fears display;
That ever you with conquest may be crown'd.
For your defeat is mine, and mine your wound.
My fancy still presents you to my mind,
Amid your foes of ev'ry savage kind;
The dragon's forky tongue methinks I view,
And the boar's tusk, and lion's claw in you.
The worrying dogs with freezing blood I see,
And intercept the death, and bleed for thee,
Ill omens from my slaughter'd victims rise,
No flame of od'rous incense upward flies,
But the chok'd fire, as soon as kindled, dies.
Foreboding dreams my anxious soul affright,
And mine are all the horrors of the night.
Much I enquire, impatient of your fate,
What none, or but with doubtful trust, relate,
I hope, I fear, aud with alternate pain
At once for thee the double care sustain.
Your mother absent feels the same alarms,
Repents the fortune of her envy'd charms,
That e'er they pleas'd a God, and blest his arms.
Me, all as a forsaken widow shun,
Nor is Amphitryon here, nor is your son.
No war but with Eurystheus now you wage,
The minister of Juno's restless rage.
Your dangers and your toils she still renews,
Still your dear life with cruel hate pursues.
If of your foreign loves I should complain,
You'd laugh at my laments, and mock my pain.
Each maid you meet to your embrace you take, 90
And each that you enjoy a mother make.
Shall I Parthenion Auge's rape relate,
Or what by force was Astydamia's fate?
You'll never blush to hear your broken vows,
Nor think you err'd in wronging Theutra's house,
Where fifty sisters in one night you knew;
But what are fifty ruin'd nymphs to you?
Another such offence I've lately known,
And Lamus by your lust is made my son;
His stepdame I, and o'er the Lybian plains
My rival, his abandon'd mother, reigns.
And where thro' flow'ry vales Mæander glides, With winding waves, and turns with refluent tides, Has Hercules been seen in shameless guise,
Ill suiting him, whose shoulders bore the skies; 105
With bracelets deck'd, and other female geer,
Which wanton damsels at their revels wear.
Bright chains of gold around those arms they view,
Which in Nemean woods the lion slew.
Whose skin a glorious robe, he proudly wore,
And on his back the dreadful trophy bore.
See his rude locks with gaudy ribands bound,
And purple vests his manly limbs surround;
Such as the soft Mæonian virgins wear,
To catch in silken folds the flowing hair.
Now horror in your mind his image breeds,
Who fed with human flesh his pamper'd steeds.
His conqu❜ror had Busiris thus beheld,
He'd doubt his fall, and still dispute the field.
These toys Anteus from your neck would tear, 120
Asham'd his victor should such trinkets wear.
'Tis said, you with Ionian girls are seen,
In base attendance on their haughty queen;
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