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  "uri": "at://did:plc:7zre4plmd5jllccww575j6sb/com.whtwnd.blog.entry/3kyjzt5c3422j",
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    "$type": "com.whtwnd.blog.entry",
    "theme": "github-light",
    "title": "The Lithica by (pseudo)Orpheus",
    "content": "- A GIFT to mortals from protecting Jove,\n- The son of Maia brings me from above,\n- By Jove's command, to teach to all below\n- A sure remede against each earthly woe.\n- Hear it with joy! this to the wise I say,\n- Whose heart is right, and who the gods obey;\n- For the profane, in their own folly blind,\n- Heaven suffers not this remedy to find.\n- Rejoicing in this boon in times on yore,\n- Phoebus his son up to the immortals bore,\n- And led the healing god to where on high\n- Olympus rears his snows amid the sky.\n- Where, too, the Athenian goddess, Pallas chaste,\n- Alicides, savior of the nations placed.\n- Taught by such lore, great Chiron scaled the walls\n- Of lofty heaven, and burst into its halls.\n- All these, of demi-gods the first and best,\n- Joyous received the mansions of the blest;\n- But us, the god who bears the golden wand,\n- To dwell in peace contented doth command;\n- Enjoying wealth, in its prossession sure,\n- Through his kind care, from every ill secure.-\n- Whatever mortal his bold heart impells \n- To seek the mystic cave where Hermes dwells,\n- That mystic cave where the wise god a hoard\n- Of all things good hath in his treasure stored,\n- He shall return, and bear in both his hands\n- A heap of blessings numerous as the sands:\n- No care, no sorrow shall he ever taste,\n- Nor pining sickness his strong body waste;\n- Nor, dreading his foes' might, from battle flee,\n- Abandoning the hope of victory:\n- Nor in the games when he disputes the prize\n- Shale e'er opponents dare 'gainst him to rise;\n- Though limbs of brass, though souls of iron they bring,\n- All burning for the crown, into the ring;\n- By mountain herds as the dread lion feared,\n- And by his fellows as a god revered;\n- In regal courts he honor shall command\n- and 'mid the people of each foreign land.\n- Him lovely youths with all their tender charms\n- Shall seek to clasp within their longing arms;\n- And the soft maid, by love's strong impulse led,\n- Shall gently draw towards the golden bed;\n- His prayers shell ever reach the Immortals' ear,\n- Nor angry seas nor tempests shall he fear;\n- But tread with feet unwetted o'er the sea:\n- Him, though alone, shall savage robbers flee.\n- In him his servants shall a father view,\n- And love their master's house with reverence due;\n- He shall at will the hidden thoughts perceive,\n- Which others in their inmost hearts conceive;\n- And what the birds, the inmates of the sky,\n- Amongst themselves, unknown to mortals cry;\n- Those winged interpreters of heaven's decrees,\n- Aye chanting forth their mystic melodies.\n- He lears the dragon's rushing force to break,\n- And quench the venom of the crawling snake;\n- The man dashed to the ground in that dire hour\n- When reels his brain 'neath Luna's baleful power,\n- I'll teach his cure, and how the pest to tame,\n- That from the elephant derives its name;\n- And how to ban by spells the dead man's ghost,\n- Sent back to day from Pluto's gloomy coast.\n- A thousand other blessings heaped on high,\n- Stored in the cave of skilful Hermes lie;\n- Immortal, true, of wondrous potency,\n- Who so attains a happy man is he!\n- The guardian god who Argus slew of yore,\n- Hath me ordained to teach this mystic lore,\n- And from my breast, which he himself constrains, \n- Pour forth his precepts in multifluous strains.-\n- But small their number they who seek to learn;\n- Presumptuous mortals ancient wisdom spurn,\n- If from afar bright Virtue to them cries,\n- (Mother of heroes) they her call despise:\n- All fly like cowards, in hot haste they run,\n- All, labour, life-preserving labour, shun;\n- No happiness upon their dwellings shines,\n- No heart to serve th'immortal gods inclines;\n- But like to brutes senseless, untaught, they lie,\n- No heaven-born wisdom doth their need supply;\n- Nor seek they refuge in the god of light,\n- Nor pray his holy aid to heal their plight;\n- No glorious deeds the grovelling wretches know,\n- To cast a lustre on their state of woe;\n- Their souls enveloped in her thickest clouds,\n- Impenetrable Darkness ever shrouds\n- With envious hindrance, lest their steps proceed\n- To tread the paths of Virtue's flowery mead;\n- But her the wretches from their cities chase,\n- And scorn the helper of the human race.\n- Partner with heroes in their high emprize,\n- A cruel death the poet-prophet dies;\n- And hated is the man, and fear'd by all,\n- Whom people by the name magician call:\n- The god-like seer beneath the sword unjust,\n- His head struck off, lies out-stretch'd in the dust.-\n- But I to those who my behests obey,\n- Will treasure far above all gold convey:\n- A man I seek endowed with patient mind,\n- And full of zeal, to toil with me inclined;\n- Eager to learn, and willing to be taught,\n- For all success must be with labour bought.\n- To words or deeds that no hard labour own,\n- High-thundering Jove ne'er grands the victor's crown.\n- With grievous toil yoked to his fiery car,\n- His steeds bear Phoebus through the fields of air,\n- And all exhausted by his upward way,\n- Glad to his Western goal conduct the Day.-\n- Far better, converse with the wise to hold,\n- Than countless treasures of all-powerful gold;\n- One morn as towards the fields (an annual rite)\n- I bore my offereings to the god of light\n- I met Theodamas, that seer renowned,\n- Home to the city from the country bound.\n- I grasp his hand, and thus the sage address:-\n- \"Tarry to-day, if no great business press,\n- To-morrow the city wend thy way:\n- Now, celebrate with me the festal day.\n- To meet like this sure heav'n hath been thy guide,\n- Therefore my friend to follow me decide;\n- And with me to the sacred rites repair,\n- Which virtuous men with holy hands prepare;\n- It specially the powers divine delights,\n- When good men celebrate their sacred rites.\n- No distant journey, for thou see'st me bound\n- On my own land towards yon rising mound\n- Where once in childhood I had strayed alone\n- In search of quails which from my charge had flown:\n- As I approached, each playful favorite tame\n- Stopped when I called it by its well-known name;\n- But as I stretched my hand the prize to clasp,\n- The wanton vanished from my eager grasp;\n- In my hot haste I tumble on my face,\n- But up again, and still pursue the chase.\n- But as they reach the summit of the hill\n- The startled fowles send forth a piping shrill,\n- And swifter than a dart or arrow's flight\n- Upon a lofty beech the pair alight.\n- For they had marked in time a deadly snake,\n- With open jaws forth issuing from the brake,\n- Unseen approaching by my careless eyes,\n- Fixed too intently on my longed-for prize.\n- At last I mark him raising from the ground,\n- His head prepared to strike the deadly wound;\n- Whoever then had viewed my mad career,\n- As down the slope I dashed in panic fear,\n- Had sure not deepmed me of my quails in chase,\n- Nor boyish, limbs that drove so wild a pace;\n- An eagle's wings my terror would demand,\n- Or swiftest winds: grim death was close at hand.\n- Full often as the breeze them backwards bore,\n- His pointed fangs my floating garments tore;\n- And sure, before my fated period came,\n- The monster had devoured my tender frame\n- Had not I sprung upon an altar hoar,\n- Raised to bright Phoebus in the days of yore,\n- Where lay, spared by the flames that round had sunk,\n- The half-burnt fragment of an olive's trunk:\n- I grasp the massy weapon as it lay,\n- Face my pursuer, and so stand at bay;\n- Spying resistance he with fury burns,\n- And in thick wreaths his supple body turns;\n- His scaly volumes, bright as polished steel,\n- Fold upon fold are piled in many a wheel;\n- His glistening fangs above the altar rise,\n- His horrid hissings drown my feeble cries:\n- With all my force full on his head I struck,\n- The half-burnt club in thousand shivers broke;\n- But yet, for favouring fate did not ordain,\n- That I should sink by this fell monster slain,\n- Two sturdy hounds, that watched my father's flocks,\n- Spread o'er the plain whence rise yon towering rocks:\n- They year my voice, and to my rescue come,\n- For I had oft caressed them at my home.\n- On them he turned; I leaping to the ground\n- In hasty flight a place of refuge found:\n- As 'scaped the eagle's talons in mid-air,\n- 'Midst tangled thickets lurks the rightened hare,\n- So mingling with the flocks I crouched beneath,\n- And 'mid their numbers shunned the glance of death.\n- Whilst my good father lived, he year by year\n- Up to the guardian altar brought a steer,\n- An offering to the Sun, of grateful joy,\n- To pay the ransom of his rescued boy;\n- So now the choicest of the herd I bring,\n- A fatted calf, the firstling of the spring;\n- And mount the hill, steep rising from the plain,\n- In due procession with a friendly train;\n- The trusty hounds that slew the crested snake,\n- A willing part in the procession take.\n- Around the altar of the king of light,\n- A thousand charms arise in beauty bright:\n- A verdant plalin, with herbage soft o'erspread,\n- Where shaggy elms afford a grateful shade,\n- Where 'neath a rock an ever-flowing spring\n- With bubbling melody doth sweetly sing.\n- Come then, my friend, enjoy the present time,\n- Tos slight the sacred banquet were a crime.\"\n- I spoke; the hoary sage this answer gave:\n- \"May the great god of day thee ever save,\n- Avert all sorrow, guide they way to wealth,\n- banish all tears, maintain in perfect health,\n- For this thy love: I, too, as best I may,\n- Will in some sort thy kindliness repay,\n- And teach the means, shouldst thou an offering bear,\n- To force the gods to hearken to they prayer.-\n- Take in thy pious hand the Crystal bright,\n- Transparent image of the Eternal Light.\n- Pleased with its lustre, every god shall hear\n- Thy vows with favour and concede thy prayer.\n- But how to test the virtue of the stone,\n- A certain way I will to thee make known:\n- Without fire's aid to raise the flame divine,\n- This wondrous gem lay though on splintered pine:\n- Forthwith, reflecting the bright orb of day,\n- Upon the wood it shoots a slender ray,\n- Caught by the uncuous fuel this shall raise\n- First smoke, then sparks, and last a mighty blaze.\n- Such we the fire of ancient Vesta name,\n- Loved by the immortals all, a holy flame;\n- No fire terrestrial with such grateful fumes,\n- The fatted victim on their hearths consumes.\n- Yet though the fire the source, strange to be told,\n- Snatch from the flame the stone-'tis icy cold!\n- Girt round his loins with this, the sufferer gains\n- A sure sure relief from all nephritic pains.-\n- Another gem, to aid thee in thy vows\n- Of mighty force my mystic science shows:\n- As teats of heifers with strange milk replete,\n- Or teeming breasts of of youthful mothers sweet,\n- This potent stone, by sages old extolled,\n- Resistless Adamant is rightly called;\n- For that it bends the powers who rule the sky,\n- To view men's offerings with propitious eye.\n- The tital of Lethoean too it bears,\n- Making both gods and men forget their cares.\n- With influence bland, it soothes the soul to rest,\n- And rouses pleasant thoughts in the human breast.\n- But some the term of Adamant disclaim,\n- And say that Milkstone is the fitter name:\n- For if thou rub the stone, then trickling slow,\n- A milky fluid from its pores shall flow.\n- Of this thou mayest another profe espye\n- If e'er the udders of they ewes run dry;\n- What canst thou do thy tender flocks to save,\n- Which erst a refuge from the monster gave?\n- When pinched with hunger, crowding round thy feet,\n- Within the fold their piteous tale they bleat?\n- They sickly ewes then bid thy shepherds lave\n- In the dark pools where sleeps the fountain-wave.\n- Next,, ranged in order 'gainst the rising sun,\n- With fitting rite thus purify each one:\n- Take in thine hand a goblet filled with brine,\n- Mixed with this stone reduced to powder fine;\n- Thy sheep and goats then carefully go through,\n- Sprinkling their fleeces with the lustral dew:\n- Straightway the mothers, of their sickness healed,\n- To their glad young shall milk abundant yield,\n- And playful once again the happy lambs\n- In sportive gambols frisk around their dams.\n- And bid the bride, but late a mother made,\n- To drink this gem with honied mead allayed,\n- That her sweet infant on her flowing breast,\n- Drunk with the copious stream, may soundly rest.\n- Hang this, O nurse, about thy charge's neck;\n- The potent gem the Evil Eye shall check.\n- Whilst on your hand this virtuous stone you wear,\n- Kings shall respect, and nations shall revere;\n- The immortal gods, obedient to your will,\n- Shall hear your vows, and your desires fulfil.-\n- Pray with the flowered Petraces in thine hand,\n- When hecatombs before the altar stand.-\n- Carrying the Tree-Stone with thee to the shrine,\n- Thou shalt propitiate each power divine.\n- The gem the semblance of a garden shows,\n- Where growing trees entwine their leafy boughs;\n- Hence a fit title bears it with the wise,\n- Who the Tree-Agate as a treasure prize:\n- One part displays the perfect Agate-stone,\n- In one a shaggy growve is plainly shown.\n- Tied to their horns let this thine oxen bear,\n- While turning up they furrows with the share,\n- And bid thy ploughman wear the potent charm,\n- Securely fastened round his sturdy arm;\n- Then wheat-crowned Ceres shall thy vows attend,\n- And with full lap upon thy fields descend.-\n- Shouldst thou by chance the wondrous Stagshorn find,\n- Draw near the altar with undoubting mind;\n- For the pleased gods, with admiration due,\n- Creative Nature's strange production view.\n- A real stone in the stag's brain it grows,\n- Not like the branching antlers, on his brows;\n- Yet solely by the touch can it be known\n- To be not horn, but hard and real stone.\n- If time hath thinned thy locks, its force shall spread\n- A youthful covering o'er thine aged head:\n- With this in oil dissolved anoint, and lo!\n- Fresh honours on thy barren scalp shall grow.\n- Wear this, O youth, when to thy nuptial bed\n- For the first time the blushing bride is led;\n- Wear it as witness of thine amourous play;\n- Then concord sweet shall crown each future day,\n- And to old age, unbroken shall endure\n- The marriage-bond against all change secure.-\n- Dear to Jove's son is the next gem I sing,\n- Lord of the herd, the ivy-crowned king!\n- Of barbarous name, washed on those Syrian shores\n- Where his resounding waves Eurphrates pours.\n- Well pleased with this when to the favouring skies,\n- For thy vines' sake thy fuming offerings rise,\n- With clusters huge he shall thy vineyard dress,\n- And floods of must gush from the labouring press.-\n- The gods propitious hearken to his prayers,\n- Whoe'er the polished grass-green Jasper wears.\n- His parched globe they'll satiate with rain,\n- And send fat showers to soak the thirsty plain.-\n- Turn, Lychnis! from our fields the dashing hail,\n- And all what pests the growing crops assail.\n- Dear to the gods, thou canst the sacred blaze \n- Like to the crystal on their altars raise.\n- A stranger virtue yet this gem shall show,\n- When leaping flames round the full cauldron glow,\n- Cast in the stone: still cold the brazen urn,\n- Though with full force the fire beneath it burn;\n- But if the same on embers cold you set,\n- The bubbling waters in the vessel fret.\n- The self-same power the sacrificial tribe\n- Unto the glass-like Peridot ascribe.-\n- With its complexion of a lovely boy,\n- The Opal fills the hearts of gods with joy;\n- Whilst by the mild effulgence of its light,\n- Its healing power restores the failing sight.-\n- Mix myrrh, strong Opsian, tears distilled from pine,\n- With flakes of Talc that like to silver shine;\n- This shall reveal whate'er men seek to know,\n- And omens give of coming weal or woe.\n- The flakey talc doth also drive away \n- All ailments sore that on the sinews prey.-\n- Two gems, they teach are sacred to the sun,\n- Alike divine and wonderful each one;\n- In each reflected Sol's bright rays appear,\n- Ranged in straight lines like his wide-streaming hair;\n- In look diverse: one as the Crystal bright,\n- The other verges on the Chrysolite,\n- But for its rays a Chrysolite it were:\n- The self-same virtues in the two appear,\n- A mighty spirit Phoebus hath inspired\n- Within the gems by his own radiance fired;\n- For all who this great boon shall wisely wear,\n- Noble their port, and dignified their air;\n- Heroic magesty their form displays;\n- The people look and wonder as they gaze.\n- They that tranquility with courage join,\n- Shall best propitiate the powers divine.-\n- Above all gems, fierce Mars the Loadstone loves,\n- For eagerly to meet the steel it moves:\n- As the fond maiden, bright in youthful charms,\n- Strains the loved youth within her longing arms,\n- So tight the loadstone in its eager grasp,\n- Holds the loved steel, reluctant to unclasp.\n- Circe, they say, with magic lore imbued,\n- Armed with this stone her potent philtres brewed.\n- AEetes' daughter loved the loadstone too;\n- That crafty witch who her own children slew.\n- If e'er thou wish thy spouse's truth to prove,\n- If pure she hat kept her from adulterous love,\n- Within thy bed unseen this stone bestow,\n- Muttering a soothing spell in whispers low:\n- Though wrapped in slumber deep, if pure and chaste,\n- She'll seek to strain thee to her loving breast;\n- But if polluted by adultery found,\n- Hurled from the couch she tumbles on the ground.\n- And if two brothers shall a loadstone wear,\n- Free from all strife abide the friendly pair.\n- And when the crowds towards the forum roll,\n- With words persuasive shalt thou melt the soul.\n- Why needs it more its numerous virtues praise,\n- When e'en the immortal gods its influence sways,\n- So that with softened hearts the powers above,\n- Grant all thy wishes with a parent's love?-\n- Soon will we prove the virtues that I teach,\n- When we the altar of thy saviour reach,\n- For yonder slave, companion of my road,\n- On his broad shoulders bears an ample load.\n- But since, undone our journey's greater part,\n- Fear of the monster fills thy beating heart,\n- Attend whilst I an antidote declare,\n- No more the trailing serpent's tooth to fear.\n- Let him who by the dragon's fang hath bled,\n- On the dire wound Serpentine powdered spread,\n- And in the stone his sure reliance place,\n- For wounds inflicted by the reptiile race.\n- The Ostrites mixed with wine affords again\n- A quick relief to cool their 'iery pain.-\n- The sacred stone that from the viper came,\n- Well known to leeches by the Viper's name,\n- Aided by which, divine Machaon's art\n- Cured of the rankling wound the nine years' smart,\n- When the despairing hero now no more\n- Hoped for deliverance from the festering sore:\n- But taught its virtues by his sire on high,\n- With this he healed the bold Poeantian's thigh,\n- And sent him forth rejoicing on his way\n- To Troy the Phrygian ravisher to slay.\n- Pierced by his shaft, scarce Paris self believed\n- That he his death from Philoctete received;\n- Nor deemed the hero from the Lemnian shore,\n- With limbs restored, had hastened to the war.\n- Thus the Poentean the seducer slew;\n- But more his fate to Helenus was due,\n- Who taught the Greeks to bring, O treachery vile!\n- His brother's slayer from the lonely isle.\n- To him had Phoebus given the vocal stone,\n- Hight Suleritis, for true answers known;\n- The living Ophite some the wonder call,\n- Black, round, and ponderous, a portentous ball;\n- Around its face, in many a mazy bend,\n- Like wrinkles deep the graven furrows trend.\n- For thrice seven days the mighty wizard fled\n- The bath's refreshment and his consort's bed;\n- For thrice seven days a solemn fast maintained,\n- Nor flesh of living thing his strength sustained.\n- Then in the living fount the gem he laves,\n- And in soft garments like an infant swathes,\n- As to a god, he sacrifices brings,\n- And potent spells in mystic murmurs sings,\n- Till moved by fervent prayer and mighty charms,\n- A living soul the prescient substance warms,\n- Then in his hands he bears the thing divine\n- Where kindled lamps in his pure mansion shine,\n- And as her infant son a mother holds,\n- Son in his arms the talisman he folds.\n- And thou, if thou wouldst hear the mystic voice,\n- Thus do, and in the wondrous thing rejoice:\n- For when thou long has dandled it on high,\n- 'Twill utter forth a faint and feeble cry,\n- Like to a suckling's wail when roused from rest,\n- It seeks refreshment from the nurse's breast.\n- But with courageous heart perform the rite,\n- Lest thou the anger of the gods excite,\n- If from thy hand, unnerved by panic fear,\n- Down to the ground thou dash the magic sphere,\n- Be bold, and dare the oracle to test,\n- A true response 'twill yield to each request;\n- Then having bathed it, hold it to thine eye,\n- And mark in wondrous guise its spirit fly.\n- Through this the Trojan to the Atridae hold,\n- The coming downfall of his race foretold.\n- Another virtue hath the stone, 'tis sead,\n- Since thou still tremblest at the serpent dread:\n- Far greater fear, ne'er slumbering day or night,\n- Had Philoctetes of the viper's bite:\n- Hence he sage Priam's son with prayers pursues,\n- Falls at his feet, and low for counsel sues,\n- To teach some charm that far away should chase,\n- Whene'er he reached his home, the reptiel race.\n- Touched by his prayer, the wizard high reveals\n- The sought for antitdote, nor ought conceals,\n- Invokes Apollo witness of his truth,\n- And gives these precepts to the suppliant youth:\n- \"The god of oracles with radiant hair,\n- From whom these gifts of prophecy I bear,\n- First on my youth a solemn oath imposed,\n- Ere he the science deep to me disclosed,\n- Never to man a false response to make;\n- Therefore with fullest truth my answer take,\n- And list, O lord of the unerring bow,\n- The wondrous lore that I prepare to show.\n- For all the pests that out of the earth arise,\n- The earth's ownself the antidote supplies;\n- She breeds the viper, but she to the sage\n- The means present to quell the viper's rage.\n- All kinds of gems spring from her bosom wide,\n- And hapless mortals with sure help provide;\n- For all what virtues potent herbs possess,\n- Gems in their kind have, nor in measure less;\n- Great is the force of herbs, but greater far\n- The virtues that in stones inherent are;\n- For in the stone implanted mother earth\n- Eternal force, unfading, at its birth.\n- Short-lived the herb, it quickly fades away,\n- And but in life its potency bears sway;\n- When past its prime, it dry and withered lies;\n- And what help find we in a thing that dies?\n- Plants as the source of death and health we own,\n- But scarce canst thou find mischief in a stone.\n- As numerous as the flowers spring from the ground,\n- So many gems are in earth's bosom found.\n- Midst serpents then, with Sideritis armed,\n- Securely walk, against all danger charmed.\n- What though their swarming hosts around the roll,\n- No thought of peril need disturb thy soul;\n- Awed by the spell they fear their fangs to use,\n- Though with bare feet their scaly coils thou bruise.\n- With wonder filled, at thine approach they fly,\n- Nor dare to face the terrors of thine eye;\n- E'en those at first prepared at thee to leap,\n- Fall to the ground and tamely backward creep:\n- The potent spell their headlong fury checks,\n- They stop and elevate their gilded necks;\n- And to their lord in tame submission drawn,\n- With forked tongues, like doges they on thee fawn.\n- The hunter-boy, confiding in its aid,\n- In Ida's thicket oft securely laid,\n- Euphorbus 'mid the speckled dragon's brood,\n- Uninjured slept, though thirsting for men's blood.\n- For to his prayer the sacred stone I gave,\n- And ne'er a serpent dared his glance to brave.\n- Brave Melanippus loved his beauty bright,\n- And in his presence found his sole delight;\n- My cousin he, himself of graceful mould,\n- But yet his worth his beauty's praise out-told,\n- Following the fair-haired youth with constant love,\n- Never without him in the chase he'd rove;\n- But o'er the mountains still with train and hound,\n- He tracked the game in many a devious round:\n- Full often longed great Icetaon's son,\n- To follow his loved comrade all alone.\n- Him oft his father checked with anxious care,\n- Dreading the perils of the sylvan war,\n- And often royal Priam would detain\n- The ardent youth, but still had tried in vain;\n- For who would live deserted at the court,\n- And leave Euphorbus to his woodland sport?\n- Yet soon a serpent checked the impetuous youth,\n- Piercing his ankle with envenomed tooth.\n- The hero, conscious of the deadly wound,\n- Keener than death the pain of parting found;\n- Pron at my knees for aid to me he prays;\n- I pity, and the wounded hunter raise,\n- And bid him take, to finest powder ground,\n- This stone, and sprinkle on the burning wound,\n- Instant the deadly venom quits his veins,\n- And the glad youth his former strength regains.\n- Such are the virtues of the Mountain-stone,\n- As sure relief to wounded heroes shown,\n- Makes too the baren woman to conceive:\n- The gods for mortals all things can achieve.\n- Such rules the wise Abarbereia taught\n- (My mother she), with healing science fraught,-\n- Euphorbus sings the Serpentine is good,\n- Not merely 'gainst the serpent's scaly brood,\n- But hence the darkling eye new light obtains,\n- And from the head it drives the heavy pains.\n- Aided by this he healed the deafened ear,\n- And gave it power the lightest sound to hear.\n- The unhappy youth on whom hath Venus frowned,\n- All impotent for love's sweet pleasures found,\n- Strengthened by this renews his former fires,\n- And feels his veins inflamed with fresh desires.\n- Its fumes in burning reptiles chase away,\n- Though hid in holes they shun the light of day.\n- Such flee, when Jet in rising clouds consumes,\n- The nose provoking with its pungent fumes.\n- Black as a coal, but yet of lustrous shine,\n- It blases up like torch of driest pine;\n- But strange its influence on the human brain,\n- Nor can the wretch disguise his hidden pain,\n- From whom the dire disease we seek to purge, \n- Sent down from heaven the human race to scourge.\n- Soon as his nostrils feel the potent smoke,\n- Headlong he falls as from the lightning's stroke,\n- Covered with foam, in fierce convuslions bound,\n- He rolls and writhes and struggles on the ground;\n- Malignant Luna, tyrant of his brain,\n- Surveys his torture and enjoys his pain.\n- But if a woman o'er its vapours bend\n- And catch the healing fumes as they ascend,\n- Long pent within by circulation slow,\n- At last dissolved the noxious humours flow;\n- She marks the flux, and conscious of release,\n- Departs exulting, 'scaped the fell disease.\n- Yet other virtues to the stone are lent,\n- But with its power o'er snakes thou'lt be content.-\n- Named from the scorpion dire, the virtuous stone\n- To huge Orion was, I ween, unknown\n- Else had he, tortured by its fiery pain,\n- Paid all his stars the remedy to gain.\n- Nor yet the gem he knew that quells the smart\n- Of scorpion, archer armed with deathful dart,\n- For, mixed with garlic's juice, 'twill surely chase\n- From their deep lurking holes the poisonous race;\n- Like to the human head in shape it grows,\n- And mixed with sharpest wine its virtue shows.\n- This medicine e'en the venomed asp can quell,\n- The asp, sure minister of gloomy hell!\n- To cure the throat, grind this with fragrant oil\n- From roses pressed and mixed with beastings boil;\n- Mingled with honey 'twill the mass dispel\n- Of watery humours which the belly swell,\n- Or which, descending from their proper place,\n- With an unseemly load the groin disgrace.-\n- The Coral too, in Perseus' story named,\n- Against the scorpion is of might proclaimed.\n- This also a sure remedy shall bring\n- For murderous asp, and blunt his fateful sting.\n- Above all gems in potency 'tis raised\n- By bright-haired Phoebus and its value praised;\n- For on its birth it shows a wondrous change;\n- True is the story, though thou'lt deem it strange;\n- At first a plant, it springs not from the ground,\n- The nurse of plants, but in the deep profound\n- Like a green shrub it lifts its flowery head\n- Mid weeds and mosses of old ocean's bed;\n- But when old age its withering stem invades,\n- Nipped by the brine, its verdant foliage fades,\n- It floats amid the wrack of sea-things tossed,\n- Till roaring waves expel it on the coast;\n- Then in the moment that it breathes the air,\n- They say who've seen it, that it hardens there,\n- Or as by frost congealed and solid grown\n- The plant is stiffened into perfect stone;\n- And in a moment in the finders hands,\n- Erst a soft branch, a flinty coral stands;\n- Yet still the shrub its pristine shape retains,\n- Still spread its branches, still its fruit remains,\n- The bark yet there though turned to stone we view,\n- And yet the root whence in the depths it grew.\n- A sweet delight to the beholder's eye,\n- My heart its aspect fills with speechless joy,\n- My longing gaze its beauty never tires,\n- But yet the prodigy with awe inspires;\n- Though to the legend I true credite give,\n- Scarce do I hope it credence will receive;\n- But yet to men, I ween, no lying fame\n- Hath sung the terrors of the Gorgon's name,\n- No idle tale the feat of Perseus, high\n- On airy wings careering through the sky,\n- Or how the hero slew 'neath Atlas' rocks\n- The dire Medusa tressed with snaky locks,\n- Monster invincible, with eyes of hell,\n- Fatal to all on whom her glances fell,\n- Who under that intolerable eye\n- To marble statue stiffen ere they die.\n- E'en Pallas self, indomitable Maid,\n- Shrunk from the terrors of that look, afraid,\n- And warned her brother of the golden glaive\n- To avert his eyes as he the death-blow gave.\n- Thus by a wile he won the monster's head,\n- And severed from the neck her serpent's dread,\n- And stealing from behind with noiseless wheel,\n- Drew round her throat the curved Cyllemal steel.\n- Though slain the Gorgon, yet her face remains,\n- And many yet were fated by the sight\n- The realms to enter of eternal night.\n- Dripping with blood the hero seeks the shore,\n- And, whilst he cleanses from his hands the gore,\n- Still warm, still quivering, lays his trophy down\n- On the green sea-plants all about him strown,\n- Whilst tired by toil and by his weary way\n- His libs he freshens in the cooling sea.\n- Pressed by the head the weeds around that lie\n- Soaked with the gore, grow drunk with sanguine dye,\n- The rushing breezes, daughters of the flood,\n- Upon their boughs congeal the clotted blood,\n- And so congeal, it seems, a real stone\n- Nor only seems; to real rock 'tis grown.\n- What though of softness every trace be reft,\n- To the dry plant its pristine shape is left.\n- Tinged by the blood that from her arteries flows,\n- No longer green, with blushing red it glows-\n- Struck with surprise the dauntless hero stares,\n- E'en wise Minerva his amazement shares,\n- And that her brother's fame may last for aye,\n- Gives power unfading to the coral spray\n- Ever its early nature thus to change:\n- She next endowed the plant with virtue strange,\n- And to its kind of lasting influence lent\n- To guard mankind on toilsome journeys bent,\n- Whether by land their wearly way they keep,\n- Or brave in ships the terrors of the deep-\n- Of furious Mars to 'scape the lightning sword,\n- Or murderous onslaught of the robber-horde.\n- When the vexed Nereus tosses all his waves\n- The potent Coral trembling sailors saves,\n- If they with vows the warlike blue-eyed Maid\n- Invoke, and claim in their distress her aid.\n- All drugs that poison, all the spells that bind,\n- All curses that relentless Furies mind,\n- The hid pollution that brings ruin down\n- Upon the house e'en to its lord unknown,\n- And all the ill wrought by enchantment dire\n- Against thy weal when envious men conspire,\n- For all these evils by benignant heaven\n- The Coral surest antidote is given.\n- Pound this and mix it when thou sowest thy grain,\n- It shall avert all mischief from the plain,\n- The drought which parches with destruction sere\n- The milky juices of the swelling ear;\n- The million darts which flung by driving hail\n- With hopeless wound thy growing crops assail;\n- Destructive insects too it scares away,\n- The caterpillar's troop, the worm's array,\n- The rust which falling on the corn from high\n- Reddens the ear and burns its substance dry,\n- The host of flies, the locust's countless swarms,\n- E'en Jove's red lightning from they field it charms,\n- Such honour pays he to the glorious deed\n- Of his great son, and grants the worthy mede.\n- And this returning from earth's furthest shore\n- His choicest gift to man sage Hermes bore.\n- But thou, still mindful of its virtue high,\n- Drink it in wine, and poisonous asps defy,-\n- Drink too the changeful Agate in thy wine,\n- Like different gems its numerous species shine,\n- The glass-green jasper oft its hue betrays,\n- The emerald's tint, the blood-red Sardian's blaze,\n- Sometimes vermilion, oft 'tis overspread\n- With copper dull or the early apple's red:\n- But best of all the sort whereon is spied\n- The tawny color of the lion's hide;\n- This kind by ancient demi-gods was famed,\n- And from its hue Leontoseres named,\n- All mottled o'er with thousand spots 'tis seen,\n- Some red, some white, some black, some grassy green,\n- If any groaning from the scorpion's dart\n- Should sue to thee to heal the venomed smart,\n- Bind on the wound or strew the powdered stone-\n- The pain shall vanish and its influence own.\n- Adorned with this, thou woman's heart shalt gain,\n- And by persuasion thy desire obtain;\n- And if of man though aught demand, shalt come\n- With all thy wish fulfilled rejoicing home.\n- Held in the hand, this may protection give\n- In dire disease, and bid the sick man live,\n- If  yet the sovereign ruler of the sky\n- A longer span of life doth not deny;\n- But this thou knowest, that if his vital thread\n- Stern Clotho cuts, full sure his life sped.\n- When fiery tertian e'er thy limbs invades,\n- Or shivering fever brings thee near the shades,\n- Or the slow quartan's lingering plague shall seize\n- Ne'er to be banished, ever fixed disease-\n- All such thou by the Agate's aid may'st heal,\n- None else more sovereign can my skill reveal-\n- One thing alone will certain proof supply\n- To test the powers that in the jewel lie,\n- Midst seething meat if thou an Agate throw,\n- The softened flesh shall sink dissoved below.\n- Yet nought avails it for the viper's sting;\n- For that another remedy I sing,\n- Sent down from heaven, with healing virtue blest;\n- Treasure my words within thy mindful breast.-\n- When Uranus, as ancient legends say,\n- Maimed by the cruel scythe of Saturn lay,\n- And writhed in torture o'er the blue profound,\n- From heaven's high vault self-dashing to the ground,\n- That with his shaggy back, to ruin hurled,\n- With thickest darkeness he might blot the world,\n- Lest cruel Saturn, author of his woes,\n- In realms once his, might undisturbed repose;\n- The immortal blood fast issuing from his wound\n- In copious streams fell raining on the ground,\n- The drops proceeding from thy sacred veins\n- Fate not suffered not to perish on the plains;\n- But for thy blood a resting-place she found,\n- Sire of the gods! within earth's lap profoud-\n- There it remains: Sol's horses, fiery-eyed, \n- With their hot glance the holy relic dried:\n- Though to the touch a stone, its substance holds\n- Its ancient nature and true blood enfolds-\n- For still as red as blood its colour burns,\n- And slaked in water it to blood returns.\n- The Stone of Blood 'twas by the ancients styled,\n- And justly praised for all its virtues mild.\n- Poets with truth have sung its heavenly birth\n- In showers divine descending upon earth;\n- For it allows no new complaint to seize\n- The eyes, but quick dispels each old disease.\n- This comes if mixed with whey of milk so pure,\n- For ground with honey 'twill the eyelids cure.\n- It grieves the stone that sealed by blindness' night\n- The eye of man should be begrudged the sight\n- Of that bright face from which the welkin shows\n- The ancientest of gods with high-arched brows.\n- Through it the eyeballs with fresh lustre shine:\n- E'en impotence it cures if mixed with wine.\n- When bent to bear Achilles' arms away,\n- Fierce Ajax hastened to the wordy fray,\n- Long I besought him in his hand to bear\n- As pledge of sure success this mineral rare.\n- Aided by this bold Ajax had prevailed,\n- And e'en Minerva had his victory hailed,\n- Though by that triumph from Ulysses wise\n- The giant chief had snatched the glorious prize.\n- But to my counsels a deaf ear he turned,\n- My proffered aid he obstinately spurned,\n- And seized his fatal sword - shun thou his fate,\n- Nor slight my counsels till it be too late-\n- But since thou knowest the medicine to be good\n- Against the slippery viper's scaly brood,\n- Advise thy friends to drink it, timely wise,\n- Mixed with the draught the Naiad's urn supplies.\n- Thus, I once wishing my swift-footed friend,\n- Dolon, to mighty Hector to commend,\n- To his petition lent a ready ear,\n- The heaven-borne stone conceding to his prayer\n- Whence he above all other Trojans placed,\n- With PRiam's, as with Hector's, favour graced,\n- My service to requite for present brought\n- The Liparoean stone with virtue fraught;\n- Which erst his sire directed by my lore\n- Envoy to Memnon from Assyria bore;\n- More precious far than gold the prize he gained\n- From learned Magians through rich bribes obtained.\n- Treasure my words in thy believing heart,\n- Whilst I my own experience here impart.-\n- First to the bloodless altar shouldst thou haste\n- Whereon no living victim e'er was placed;\n- With pious hymns on radiant Pheobus call,\n- And Earth, great mother giving suck to all;\n- Next melt this stone amid the rising flames,\n- Whose odorous fumes the long drawn dragon tames;\n- They as they mark the vapour mount on high,\n- Forth issueing from their holes towards it fly,\n- And hastening onwards in a long array\n- The altar seek, nor shun the unwonted day.\n- There let three youths robed in white vestments stand,\n- Each with a sword two-edged in his hand,\n- And seize that snake which nearest to the blaze\n- Snuffing the fumes his spotted coils displays,\n- Then cut his body as he slaughtered lies\n- In portions nine, each one of equal size;\n- Three of all-seeing Sol the portions call,\n- And three of Earth, the mother of us all,\n- The omniscient prophetess, the unsullied Maid;\n- These pile together in a blood-red bowl,\n- And pour the gift of Pallas o'er the whole,\n- The ruddy liquor of the jolly god,\n- With sparkling salt, the attendant on our food,\n- And brought from Eastern lands the pungent spice,\n- Rough-coated, black, and of enormous price,\n- With other condiments that serve to excite\n- The dormant powers of jaded appetite.\n- While seethes the caldron o'er the tripod's flame\n- invoke each godhead by his secret name;\n- Full well the powers above are pleased to hear\n- Their mystic names rise with the muttered prayer.\n- Pray that Megaera, aye devising hurt,\n- Far from the bubbling caldron they avert,\n- But that the spirit from the fount of light\n- Down to the sacred mess may wing his flight.\n- When boiled the flesh the mystic feast prepare;\n- But from the tripod let each eat his share,\n- All that is left the earth must cover o'er;\n- Last on the hallowed spot libations pour,\n- Milk and the ruddy wine and fragrant oil,\n- With these combine the beehive's flowery spoil;\n- And, last, with chaplets woven from the boughs\n- Dear to the virgin goddess crown your brows;\n- Nor let it shame you though in open day\n- Stripped of your robes to take your homeward way,\n- Nor once turn back as from the place ye come,\n- But with your eyes bent forward hasten home;\n- And if a traveller meet you as ye go,\n- Beware no greeting on him ye bestow;\n- But offered to the gods, on your return\n- Let fragrant spices on the altar burn.-\n- Such rites performed, all future things I know;\n- What the airy birds by all their warblings show,\n- What beasts of brey as though the woods they prowl\n- Denote, loud answering with responsive how.\n- Hence known to me the Nebrite, gem divine,\n- A gift to mortals from the god of wine;\n- The gods with favour its possessor see,\n- Accept his offerings, to his prayers agree.\n- If with revengeful fang the serpent fierce\n- Pressed by the incautious foot thy body pierce,\n- The potent Nebrite heals the venomed smart.\n- To wives it also binds their spouses' heart.\n- Hence were thy priceless virtues to me shown\n- Against the deadly asp, life-saving stone!\n- Which from the bright-green leek deriv'st thy name;\n- The Prase, an antidote well known to fame;\n- A green-hued gem that to the admiring gaze\n- The style and colour of the leek displays.\n- Hence was I moved thy healing might to try,\n- Chalazias pure! and proved its potency.\n- In thee relief I found in fever's glow,\n- And sure remede against the serpent's blow.-\n- Son of Latona! this thy lore revered,\n- Still full of doubt the brave Poeantian heard:\n- And on my sister, that prophetic maid,\n- A heavy doom the vengeful Phoebus laid,\n- When to her warning voice as falsehoods spurned\n- A stone-deaf ear the mocking Trojans turned.\n- But I of yore a mighty oath did take\n- Never to a man a false response to make;\n- Wherefore, bold archer! with confiding breast,\n- Receive for truth these words to thee addressed.\"-\n- Old Priam's son with precepts such as these\n- Consoled the friend of fearless Hercules;\n- And we, whilst yet our bourn far distant showed,\n- Thus with sweet converse smoothed the rugged road.\n- \n- \n- Stones in the Poem\n- Crystal 170\n- Adamas 180\n- Galactites 180\n- Petraces 230\n- Tree-Agate 235\n- Stagshorn 240\n- Barbarian 255\n- Jasper 265\n- Lychnis 270\n- peridot 280\n- Opal 282\n- Amber 285\n- Sunstone 290\n- Loadstone 305\n- Ophites 335\n- Ostrites 340\n- Echites 345\n- Sideritis 355\n- Orites 450\n- Jet 470\n- Scorpius 490\n- Human Head 495\n- Coral 500\n- Agate 605\n- Haematite 640\n- Nebrites 742\n- Prase 750\n- Chalazias 755\n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- \n- ",
    "createdAt": "2024-07-31T00:14:28.150Z",
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