He loved the nymph Echo, but in this instance was unsuccessful in his
passion, for the latter adored the beautiful Narcissus, and {119} wandered
over hill and dale in search of the youth on whom she had lavished all her
affections, but who unfortunately returned them not.
To whom is not the tale of the self-slain Narcissus known, though perhaps
the exquisite story of Echo's love for him may be less familiar to the
mind.
After Echo had been dismissed by Jupiter, for her loquacity in proclaiming
his numerous amours, she fell in love with the beautiful Narcissus.
"And at the sight of the fair youth she glows,
And follows silently where'er he goes."
Unable, however, to address him first, she waited the sound of his beloved
voice.
"Now several ways his young companions gone,
And for some time Narcissus left alone,
'Where are you all?' at last she hears him call,
And she straight answers him, '_where are you all_?'
"'Speak yet again,' he cries, 'is any nigh?'
Again the mournful Echo answers, '_I_,'
'Why come not you,' he said, 'appear in view,'
She hastily returns, '_why come not you_?'
"'Then let us join,' at last Narcissus said,
'_Then let us join_,' replied the ravished maid."
In vain had the wondering youth up to this moment looked for the frolic
companions, whom he imagined had hid themselves in play. But Echo, charmed
with his last exclamation, hastily appeared, and threw herself on the bosom
of the astonished youth, who, far from submitting with pleasure to the
intrusion,
"With all his strength unlocks her fold,
And breaks unkindly from her feeble hold;
Then proudly cries, 'life shall this breast forsake,
Ere you, loose nymph, on me your pleasure take;'
'_On me your pleasure take_,' the nymph replies
While from her the disdainful hunter flies."
As the youth wandered on, anxious only to escape from the society of Echo,
he suddenly came upon a fountain, in which, as he reclined on the ground,
he fancied he saw the figure of a beautiful nymph.
"Deep through the spring, his eye-balls dart their beams,
Like midnight stars that twinkle in the streams,
His ivory neck the crystal mirror shows,
His waving hair, above the surface flows,
His own perfections all his passions moved,
He loves himself, who for himself was loved."
{120}
Half maddened by the appearance of a beauty, of which hitherto he had been
unconscious, he made every possible effort to grasp what appeared to be the
guardian spirit of the water.
"Oft with his down-thrust arms he thought to fold,
About that neck that still deludes his hold,
He gets no kisses from those cozening lips,
His arms grasp nothing, from himself he slips;
He knows not what he views, and yet pursues
His desperate love, and burns for what he views."
Nothing could win the self-enamoured boy from his devoted passion; but
bending over the lucid spring, he fed his eyes with the delusive shade
which seemed to gaze on him from the depths. At last
"Streaming tears from his full eye-lids fell,
And drop by drop, raised circles in the well,
The several rings larger and larger spread,
And by degrees dispersed the fleeting shade."
[Illustration]
Narcissus fancied that the nymph upon whom he supposed he had been gazing,
was deserting him, and unable to bear the misery which the thought
occasioned, he wounded himself in his agony, deeming that life without her
would be insupportable. Echo, however resentful she had felt for the scorn
with which he had treated her, hovered near his footsteps and witnessed
this last infatuation with redoubled sorrow. {121}
"Now hanging o'er the spring his drooping head,
With a sad sigh these dying words he said,
'Ah! boy beloved in vain,' thro' all the plain
Echo resounds, '_Ah! boy beloved in vain!_'
'Farewell,' he cries, and with that word he died,
'_Farewell,_' the miserable nymph replied.
Now pale and breathless on the grass he lies,
For death had shut his miserable eyes."
The Gods, however, taking pity upon his melancholy fate, changed him into
the flower Narcissus.
Many morals have been attempted to be deduced from this beautiful fable,
but in none of them have their authors been very successful, unless we may
gather a warning of the fatal effects of self-love.
"What first inspired a bard of old to sing
Narcissus pining o'er the mountain spring?
In some delicious ramble, he had found
A little space, with boughs all woven round,
And in the midst of all a clearer pool
Than ere reflected in its pleasant cool
The blue sky, here and there divinely peeping
Through tendril wreaths, fantastically creeping;
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied,
A meek and forlorn flower with nought of pride,
Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness
To woo its own sweet image unto nearness;
Deaf to light Zephyrus, it would not move,
But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love;
So while the poet stood in this sweet spot;
Some fainted dreamings o'er his fancy shot;
Nor was it long ere he had told the tale
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's vale."