The good old Sire was soften'd to consent;
But faid, her With wou'd prove her Punishment :
For fo much Youth, and so much Beauty join'd,
Oppos'd the State, which her Defires defign'd.
The God of Light, afpiring to her Bed,
Hopes what he seeks, with flatt'ring Fancies fed ;
And is by his own Oracles mif-led.
And as in empty Fields the Stubble burns,
Or nightly Travellers, when Day returns,
Their useless Torches on dry Hedges throw,
That catch the Flames, and kindle all the Row;
So burns the God, confuming in Defire,
And feeding in his Breast a fruitless Fire:

Her well-turn'd Neck he view'd (her Neck was bare }
And on her Shoulders her difhevel'd Hair :

Oh were it comb'd, faid he, with what a Grace
Wou'd every waving Curl become her Face!

He view'd her Eyes, like Heav'nly Lamps that fhone;
He view'd her Lips, too fweet to view alone,
Her taper Fingers, and her panting Breast;
He praises all he fees, and for the rest
Believes the Beauties yet unfeen are best.
Swift as the Wind, the Damfel fled away,
Nor did for these alluring Speeches stay :
Stay, Nymph, he cry'd, I follow, not a Foe:
Thus from the Lion trips the trembling Doe ;
Thus from the Wolf the frighten'd Lamb removes,
And from pursuing Falcons fearful Doves;
Thou fhunn'it a God, and fhunn'ft a God, that loves.
Ah, left fome Thorn fhou'd pierce thy tender Foot,
Or thou shou'dft fall in flying my Pursuit!
To sharp uneven Ways thy Steps decline;
Abate thy Speed, and I will bate of mine.

Yet think from whom thou doft so rafhly Ay
Nor bafely born, nor Shepherd's Swain am I.
Perhaps thou know'st not my superior State;
And from that Ignorance proceeds thy Hate.
Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos obey;
Thefe Hands the Patareian Scepter fway.
The King of Gods begot me : What shall be,
Or is, or ever was, in Fate, I fee.
Mine is th' Invention of the charming Lyre ;
Sweet Notes, and Heav'nly Numbers, I inspire.
Sure is my Bow, unerring is my Dart;

But ah! more deadly his, who pierc'd my Heart.
Med'cine is mine; what Herbs and Simples grow
In Fields, and Forefts, all their Pow'rs I know;
And am the great Phyfician call'd below.
Alas, that Fields and Forefts can afford
No Remedies to heal their Love fick Lord!
To cure the pains of Love, no Plant avails;
And his own Phyfick the Phyfician fails.

She heard not half, so furiously she flies;
And on her Ear th' imperfect Accent dies.
Fear gave her Wings; and, as fhe fled, the Wind
Increafing fpread her flowing Hair behind;
And left her Legs and Thighs expos'd to view :
Which made the God more eager to purfue.
The God was young, and was too hotly bent
Tolofe his time in empty Compliment :
But led by Love, and fir'd with fuch a fight,
Impetuously purfu'd his near Delight.

As when th' impatient Greyhound, flipt from far, Bounds o'er the Glebe, to course the fearful Hare, She in her Speed does all her Safety lay;

And he with double Speed pursues the Prey;

O'er-runs her at the fitting Turn, and licks
His Chaps in vain, and blows upon the Flix:
She fcapes, and for the neighb'ring Covert strives,
And gaining shelter doubts if yet fhe lives:
If little things with great we may compare,
Such was the God, and fuch the flying Fair:
She, urg'd by Fear, her Feet did fwiftly move,
But he more swiftly, who was urg'd by Love.
He gathers ground upon her in the Chace :
Now breathes upon her Hair, with nearer Pace;
And just is faft'ning on the wifh'd Embrace.
The Nymph grew pale, and in a mortal Fright,.
Spent with the Labour of fo long a Flight ;
And now despairing caft a mournful Look
Upon the Streams of her Paternal Brook :
Oh help, the cry'd, in this extremeft need,
If Water-Gods are Deities indeed :

Gape, Earth, and this unhappy Wretch intomb;
Or change my Form, whence all my Sorrows come.
Scarce had the finish'd, when her Feet the found
Benumb'd with Cold, and faften'd to the Ground:
A filmy Rind about her Body grows ;

Her Hair to Leaves, her Arms extend to Boughs:
The Nymph is all into a Laurel gone ;
The Smoothness of her Skin remains alone.
Yet Phabus loves her ftill, and, cafting round
Her Bole his Arms, fome little Warmth he found.
The Tree ftill panted in th' unfinish'd Part,
Not wholly vegetive; and heav'd her Heart...
He fix'd his Lips upon the trembling Rind;
It fwery'd afide, and his Embrace declin'd,
To whom the God, Because thou canst not be
My Mistress, I efpouse thee for my Tree:

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Be thou the Prize of Honour and Renown;
The deathlefs Poet, and the Poem, crown.
Thou shalt the Roman Feftivals adorn,
And, after Poets, be by Victors worn.
Thou shalt returning Cafar's Triumph grace;
When Pomps fhall in a long Proceffion pafs:
Wreath'd on the Poft before his Palace wait;
And be the facred Guardian of the Gate :
Secure from Thunder, and unharm'd by Jove,
Unfading as th' immortal Pow'rs above :
And as the Locks of Phebus are unfhorn,
So fhall perpetual Green thy Boughs adorn.
The grateful Tree was pleas'd with what he said,
And shook the fhady Honours of her Head.

The Transformation of Io into a Heifer.
An ancient Forest in Thessalia grows ;
Which Tempe's pleafing Valley does inclofe :
Through this the rapid Peneus take his course ;
From Pindus rolling with impetuous force :
Mists from the River's mighty Fall arise ;
And deadly Damps inclose the cloudy Skies:
Perpetual Fogs are hanging o'er the Wood;
And Sounds of Waters deaf the Neighbourhood.
Deep, in a Rocky Cave, he makes abode:
A Manfion proper for a mourning God.
Here he gives Audience; iffuing out Decrees
To Rivers, his dependent Deities.

On this occafion hither they resort ;

To pay their Homage, and to make their Court.
All doubtful, whether to congratulate

His Daughter's Honour, or lament her Fate.

Sper

Sperchæus, crown'd with Poplar, first appears;
Then old Apidanus came crown'd with Years:
Enipeus turbulent, Amphryfos tame;

And as laft with lagging Waters came.
Then of his Kindred Brooks a num'rous Throng
Condole his Lofs, and bring their Urns along.
Not one was wanting of the watʼry Train,
That fill'd his Flood, or mingled with the Main,
But Inachus, who, in his Cave, alone,

Wept not another's Loffes, but his own;
For his dear Io, whether ftray'd, or dead,
To him uncertain, doubtful Tears he shed.

He fought her through the World, but fought in vain
And, no where finding, rather fear'd her Slain.
Her, just returning from her Father's Brook,
Jove had beheld, with a defiring Look:
And, Oh, fair Daughter of the Flood, he faid,
Worthy alone of Jove's Imperial Bed,
Happy whoever fhall those Charms poffefs;
The King of Gods (nor is thy Lover lefs)
Invites thee to yon cooler Shades, to fhun
The fcorching Rays of the Meridian Sun.
Nor fhalt thou tempt the Dangers of the Grove
Alone, without a Guide; thy Guide is Jove.
No puny Pow'r, but he, whofe high Command
Is unconfin'd, who rules the Seas and Land,
And tempers Thunder in his awful Hand.
Oh fly not: For fhe fled from his Embrace
O'er Lerna's Paftures: he purfu'd the Chace
Along the Shades of the Lyrcæan Plain ;
At length the God, who never afks in vain,
Involv'd with Vapours, imitating Night,
Both Air and Earth; and then fupprefs'd her Flight,
And, mingling Force with Love,enjoy'd the full Delight.

I 4.

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