The Sun.
London, England, 1850-05-10 00:00:00

VULCAN AND VENUS.

From Aletheia ; or, the Doom of Mythology, a new
Poem just published by the Messrs. Longman
and Co.)
White though the Goddess, black the God of Fire,
Binh with the reeking of his dusky forge.
While Vesta bids her tongues of light aspire,
Dark Mulci3er his furnace mouth doth gorge
With the loud blasts his windy bellows blow,
Snorting the cinders to a rosy glow.
Before his anvil stands the brawny lord,
His forehead smirch'd with labour's grimy tan;
His deep breath heaving to his work abhor'd;
His body crippled by its earthward ban;
On smoking thunderbolt with batter'd flank
His poderous hammer whirls with leaden clank.
Down from his shaggy chest, in glistening drops,
The warm sweat falls, as from the fainting noon
Of sultry autumn days, o'er bristling crops
The cloudless skies rain forth their scanty boon;
So from the fruitfal season of his prime
Ooze the rare showers that nurture deeds sublime.
The Subterranean thus, with gnarled thews,

Melts 'mid the dismal discords of his home,
Whet e, hurtling blocks that stubborn metals bruize,
Toil the huge Cyclop and the pigmy Gnome;
There Vulcan thrills amid the tumult dire,
Whene'er to him the victim boars expire.
Yet sweeter thrill'd the pulse of his new life
When, from the creaming of his ruby tide
That lav'd the shores of Cyprus with a strife
Of shells and blossoms scatter'd side by side,
Born from the foam, his naked spouse, between
The opening valves, shone forth of pearls the Queen.
And wafted stately to the floral strand
By cool, ambrosial breathings from. the lips
Of the gay zephyrs, o'er the glittering sand
Of purple Cytherea, on the tips
Of the fresh billows like a flower afloat,
Glode the strange glory in her fragile boat.
Then downward presa'd the Seasons to the beach,
Of all things beautiful, to her the fair
Young goddess of all beauty, fondly each,
And lavishly, their treasures proffer'd there,
The summer citron, and the harvest rice,
The vernal crocus and prismatic ice.
A gorgeous carpet for her path lay strown, •
'rhe jonquil, and the pansy, and the musk;
And luscious banquets from the trees were blown,
Figs from the bough, and almonds from the husk;
The Pleasures numberless, and Graces three,
Around her frolick'd in nude ecstasy.
And still she stands, as stood her mable shade
In Paphos, or as, yet, the magic mould
Smiles from the pedestal—a shrinking maid,
Dazzling the daring pilgrims who behold
That miracle of art, whose timorous arms
Veil, yet reveal, inebriating charms.
'Round her lithe waist th' elastic girdle spans,
Rising and falling as her passions swell,
Token of mane futurity, which fans
The life that vacillates 'twixt heaven and hell,
Type of eternity, whose round duth roll—
The zone of joy, the cestus of the soul.
Down, from the slacken'd stress of her small hand,
Flutter the damask petals of the rose,
With greenest myrtles twin'd, a vermeil band,
To bind the pallor of her brow's repose,
While to her loving palm yet clings the prize,
Pluck'd in proud Ida' ;orchard paradise.
The prize awarded in the lists of love—
A red-gold apple ripen'd to the core
By sunny looks, that, coming from above,
Lived in the thoughts of Paris ever more,
Visions prefiguring with carnal joy
His dreams of bliss, the nightmare of old Troy.
Close to her dimpled feet the ringdoves press—
Her feet like ivory flush'd with shadow'd pink;
Full in the splendour of her loveliness,
Bask the twin swans that from her goblet drink,
And sparrows, dear as that which Lesbia mourned,
Whose lowly tomb Catullus' lays adorned.
Flit in gyrations of congenial glee
O'er the blithe Queen of laughter, from whose smile
Rays forth the happiness that fitfully
With jocund mimes dejected hours beguile;
So to the Paphian dame flock Cyprian girls
With haggard eheeks and gay disorder'd curls.
So, with half sad and half exultant air,
Pandenius twangs his silken-bridled bow,
Driving his poison'd shafts now here, now ;here,
Piercing the bosoms of the high, the low,:
The greybeard peasant and the child-like prince,
Who thrilling, sigh, and—sighing—thrilling, wince.
Love tempering thus, like acids in the plum,
The gladness and the grief that Beauty wears,
When Youth, with sudden rapture stricken dumb,
Her fleshly form with fancied shapes compares—
Though high o'er Venus Cupid reigns above,
Beauty's the mother of celestial Love!