On her incestuous life I need not dwell (In Lesbos still the horrid tale they tell), And of her dire amours you must have heard, For which she now does penance in a bird, That conscious of her shame, avoids the light, And loves the gloomy cov’ring of the night; The birds, where-e’er she flutters, scare away The hooting wretch, and drive her from the day.”
The raven, urg’d by such impertinence, Grew passionate, it seems, and took offence, And curst the harmless daw; the daw withdrew: The raven to her injur’d patron flew, And found him out, and told the fatal truth Of false Coronis and the favour’d youth.
Down fell the wounded nymph, and sadly groan’d, And pull’d his arrow reeking from the wound; And weltring in her blood, thus faintly cry’d, “Ah cruel God! tho’ I have justly dy’d, What has, alas! my unborn infant done, That he should fall, and two expire in one?” This said, in agonies she fetch’d her breath.
it is supposed here that the unborn
infant is indeed Apollo’s
The God dissolves in pity at her death;
He hates the bird that made her falshood known, And hates himself for what himself had done; The feather’d shaft, that sent her to the Fates, And his own hand, that sent the shaft, he hates.
Apollo is suffused with regret, anger,
self-recrimination
Fain would he heal the wound, and ease her pain,
Fain, with pleasure, gladly
And tries the compass of his art in vain.
the compass of his art, the range
of his ability, in this case vain,
faulty, ineffective
Soon as he saw the lovely nymph expire, The pile made ready, and the kindling fire.
pile, pyre
the sentence lacks a verb here, it
should read The pile was made
ready, just saying
With sighs and groans her obsequies he kept,
obsequies, funeral rites
And, if a God could weep, the God had wept.
I’ll have to watch out for gods
weeping, I suspect some have,
some can
Her corps he kiss’d, and heav’nly incense brought, And solemniz’d the death himself had wrought.
corps, body, corpse
wrought, brought about, made
happen
But lest his offspring should her fate partake, Spight of th’ immortal mixture in his make,
Spight, in spite
He ript her womb, and set the child at large, And gave him to the centaur Chiron’s charge:
And saw the monstrous infant, in a fright, And call’d her sisters to the hideous sight: A boy’s soft shape did to the waste prevail, But the boy ended in a dragon’s tail.
I told the stern Minerva all that pass’d; But for my pains, discarded and disgrac’d, The frowning Goddess drove me from her sight, And for her fav’rite chose the bird of night.