The abandoned Psyche attempted to drown herself in the neighbouring waters.
The stream, fearing the power of the God, returned her to earth upon a bank
of flowers.
She then went through the world in search of her lost love, persecuted, and
subjected to numerous trials by Venus; who, determined on destroying, sent
her to Proserpine with a box to request some of her beauty. The mission was
accomplished in safety, but Psyche nearly fell a victim to curiosity and
avarice; for she opened the box to look at its contents, and endeavoured to
take a portion of it to herself, that she might appear more beautiful in
the eyes of her lost husband. On opening it, a deep slumber fell on the
unwary mortal, and she lay upon the earth, until Cupid, luckily escaping
from the confinement to which his mother had subjected him, found his lost
love, and reproached her for her curiosity.
In addition to this, Venus imposed upon Psyche the most difficult tasks;
she poured upon the nymph torments the most excruciating, and took delight
in rendering her miserable, who, not content with being taken for the
goddess of beauty, had concluded by seducing from her the duty of her son.
Jupiter, however, was moved to pity by this relentless rigour, and by the
touching nature of the story; he took her up to heaven, restored Cupid to
his place, and making Psyche immortal, gave her in marriage to the God of
love, in the presence of the celestial inhabitants. To use the elegant
language of Mr. Keightley, {84}
"The hours shed roses through the sky, the Graces sprinkled the halls of
heaven with fragrant odours, Apollo plays on his lyre, the Arcadian God on
his reeds, the Muses sing in chorus, while Venus dances with grace and
elegance, to celebrate the nuptials of her son."
"So pure, so soft, with sweet attraction shone
Fair Psyche, kneeling at the ethereal throne;
Won with coy smiles the admiring court of Jove,
And warmed the bosom of unconquered love.
Beneath a moving shade of fruits and flowers,
Onward they march to Hymen's sacred bowers;
With lifted torch he lights the festive strain,
Sublime, and leads them in his golden chain;
Joins the fond pair, indulgent to their vows,
And hides with mystic veil their blushing brows.
Round their fair forms their mingling arms they fling,
Meet with warm lip, and clasp with nestling wing.
Hence plastic nature, as oblivion whelms
Her fading forms, repeoples all her realms;
Soft joys disport on purple plumes unfurled,
And love and beauty rule the willing world."