Here you will find the Long Poem Metamorphoses: Book The Fifth of poet Ovid

Metamorphoses: Book The Fifth

WHILE Perseus entertain'd with this report
 His father Cepheus, and the list'ning court,
 Within the palace walls was heard aloud
 The roaring noise of some unruly crowd;
 Not like the songs which chearful friends prepare
 For nuptial days, but sounds that threaten'd war;
 And all the pleasures of this happy feast,
 To tumult turn'd, in wild disorder ceas'd:
 So, when the sea is calm, we often find
 A storm rais'd sudden by some furious wind.
 The Story of Chief in the riot Phineus first appear'd,
 Perseus The rash ringleader of this boist'rous herd,
 continu'd And brandishing his brazen-pointed lance,
 Behold, he said, an injur'd man advance,
 Stung with resentment for his ravish'd wife,
 Nor shall thy wings, o Perseus, save thy life;
 Nor Jove himself; tho' we've been often told
 Who got thee in the form of tempting gold.
 His lance was aim'd, when Cepheus ran, and said,
 Hold, brother, hold; what brutal rage has made
 Your frantick mind so black a crime conceive?
 Are these the thanks that you to Perseus give?
 This the reward that to his worth you pay,
 Whose timely valour sav'd Andromeda?
 Nor was it he, if you would reason right,
 That forc'd her from you, but the jealous spight
 Of envious Nereids, and Jove's high decree;
 And that devouring monster of the sea,
 That ready with his jaws wide gaping stood
 To eat my child, the fairest of my blood.
 You lost her then, when she seem'd past relief,
 And wish'd perhaps her death, to ease your grief
 With my afflictions: not content to view
 Andromeda in chains, unhelp'd by you,
 Her spouse, and uncle; will you grieve that he
 Expos'd his life the dying maid to free?
 And shall you claim his merit? Had you thought
 Her charms so great, you shou'd have bravely sought
 That blessing on the rocks, where fix'd she lay:
 But now let Perseus bear his prize away,
 By service gain'd, by promis'd faith possess'd;
 To him I owe it, that my age is bless'd
 Still with a child: Nor think that I prefer
 Perseus to thee, but to the loss of her.
 Phineus on him, and Perseus, roul'd about
 His eyes in silent rage, and seem'd to doubt
 Which to destroy; 'till, resolute at length,
 He threw his spear with the redoubled strength
 His fury gave him, and at Perseus struck;
 But missing Perseus, in his seat it stuck.
 Who, springing nimbly up, return'd the dart,
 And almost plung'd it in his rival's heart;
 But he for safety to the altar ran,
 Unfit protection for so vile a man;
 Yet was the stroke not vain, as Rhaetus found,
 Who in his brow receiv'd a mortal wound;
 Headlong he tumbled, when his skull was broke,
 From which his friends the fatal weapon took,
 While he lay trembling, and his gushing blood
 In crimson streams around the table flow'd.
 But this provok'd th' unruly rabble worse,
 They flung their darts, and some in loud discourse
 To death young Perseus, and the monarch doom;
 But Cepheus left before the guilty room,
 With grief appealing to the Gods above,
 Who laws of hospitality approve,
 Who faith protect, and succour injur'd right,
 That he was guiltless of this barb'rous fight.
 Pallas her brother Perseus close attends,
 And with her ample shield from harm defends,
 Raising a sprightly courage in his heart:
 But Indian Athis took the weaker part,
 Born in the chrystal grottoes of the sea,
 Limnate's son, a fenny nymph, and she
 Daughter of Ganges; graceful was his mein,
 His person lovely, and his age sixteen.
 His habit made his native beauty more;
 A purple mantle fring'd with gold he wore;
 His neck well-turn'd with golden chains was grac'd,
 His hair with myrrh perfum'd, was nicely dress'd.
 Tho' with just aim he cou'd the javelin throw,
 Yet with more skill he drew the bending bow;
 And now was drawing it with artful hand,
 When Perseus snatching up a flaming brand,
 Whirl'd sudden at his face the burning wood,
 Crush'd his eyes in, and quench'd the fire with
 Thro' the soft skin the splinter'd bones appear,
 And spoil'd the face that lately was so fair.
 When Lycabas his Athis thus beheld,
 How was his heart with friendly horror fill'd!
 A youth so noble, to his soul so dear,
 To see his shapeless look, his dying groans to
 He snatch'd the bow the boy was us'd to bend,
 And cry'd, With me, false traytor, dare contend;
 Boast not a conquest o'er a child, but try
 Thy strength with me, who all thy pow'rs defy;
 Nor think so mean an act a victory.
 While yet he spoke he flung the whizzing dart,
 Which pierc'd the plaited robe, but miss'd his
 Perseus defy'd, upon him fiercely press'd
 With sword, unsheath'd, and plung'd it in his
 His eyes o'erwhelm'd with night, he stumbling
 And with his latest bre