335

And does the plough for this my body tear?
"This the reward for all the fruits I bear,
"Tortur'd with rakes, and harafs'd all the year?
"That herbs for cattle daily I renew,

"And food for man, and frankincenfe for you?
"But grant me guilty; what has Neptune done?
Why are his waters boiling in the fun?
"The wavy empire, which by lot was given,

340

Why does it wafte, and further fhrink from heav'n? "If I nor he your pity can provoke,

"See your own heav'ns, the heav'ns begin to smoke! "Should once the sparkles catch those bright abodes, "Deftruction feizes on the heav'ns and gods; 346 "Atlas becomes unequal to his freight,

"And almost faints beneath the glowing weight.
"If heav'n, and earth, and fea, together burn,
"All muft again into their chaos turn,

Apply fome fpeedy cure, prevent our fate,

"And fuccour nature ere it be too late."

350

She ceas'd; for chock'd with vapours round her spread, Down to the deepest fhades the funk her head.

Jove call'd to witnefs ev'ry pow'r above, And even the god whofe fon the chariot drove, That what he acts he is compell'd to do,

Or univerfal ruin must enfue.

Straight he afcends the high ethereal throne,

355

From whence he us'd to dart his thunder down, 360

From whence his fhow'rs and ftorms he us'd to pour,
But now could meet with neither ftorm nor show'r,
Then aiming at the youth with lifted hand,
Full at his head he hurl'd the forky brand,

In dreadful thund'rings. Thus th’Almighty fire 365
Supprefs'd the ragings of the fires with fire.

At once from life and from the chariot driven, The ambitious boy fell thunderstruck from heav'n: The horses started with a sudden bound,

And flung the reins and chariot to the ground: 370 The ftudded harness from their necks they broke; Here fell a wheel, and here a filver spoke;

Here were the beam and axle torn away,

375

And scatter'd o'er the earth the shining fragments lay:
The breathlefs Phaeton, with flaming hair
Shot from the chariot like a falling ftar,
That in a fummer's ev'ning from the top

Of heav'n drops down, or feems at least to drop,
Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurl'd,
Far from his country, in the western world.

Phaeton's fifters transformed into trees.

380

THE Latian nymphs came round him, and amaz'd,
On the dead youth, transfix'd with thunder, gaz'd,
And, whilft yet fmoking from the bolt he lay,
His fhatter'd body to a tomb convey,

And o'er the tomb an epitaph devise;

385

"Here he who drove the fun's bright chariot lies;

His father's fiery steeds he could not guide, "But in the glorious enterprise he dy'd."

390

395

Apollo hid his face, and pin'd for grief;
And if the story may deferve belief,
The space of one whole day is faid to run,
From morn to wonted ev'n without a fun;
The burning ruins, with a fainter ray,
Supply the fun, and counterfeit a day,
A day that still did Nature's face difclofe;
This comfort from the mighty mischief rofe.
But Clymenè, enrag'd with grief, laments,
And as her grief infpires her paflion vents:
Wild for her fon, and frantick in her woes,
With hair dishevell'd, round the world fhe goes, 4co
To feek where'er his body might be caft,
Till, on the borders of the Po, at last

The name inferib'd on the new tomb appears;
The dear dear name fhe bathes in flowing tears,
Hangs o'er the tomb unable to depart,

And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart.

405

Her daughters, too, lament, and figh, and mourn, (A fruitlefs tribute to their brother's urn) And beat their naked bofoms, and complain, And call aloud for Phaeton in vain;

410

All the long night their mournful watch they keep, And all the day stand round the tomb and weep. Four times, revolving, the full moon return'd, So long the mother and the daughters mourn'd;

When now the eldeft, Phæthufia, ftrove

To reft her weary limbs, but could not move;
Lampetia would have help'd her, but the found
Herfelf withheld, and rooted to the ground:
A third in wild affliction, as the grieves,

415

425

Would rend her hair, but fills her hand with leaves:
One fees her thighs transform'd, another views 421
Her arms fhot out, and branching into boughs.
And now their legs, and breasts, and bodies, stood
Crufted with bark, and hard'ning into wood;
But ftill above were female heads display'd,
And mouths, that call'd the mother to their aid.
What could, alas! the weeping mother do?
From this to that with eager hafte she flew,
And kifs'd her fprouting daughters as they grew :
She tears the bark that to each body cleaves,
And from their verdant fingers ftrips the leaves:
'The blood came trickling where the tore away
The leaves and bark; the maids were heard to say,
Forbear, miftaken Parent, oh! forbear;
"A wounded daughter in each tree you tear :
"Farewell for ever." Here the bark increas'd,
Clos'd on their faces, and their words fupprefs'd.
The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
Which, hard'ned into value by the fuo,
Diflil for ever on the ftreams below;

439

435

The limpid ftreams their radiant treasure show,
Mixt in the fand, whence the rich drops convey'd
Shine in the drefs of the bright Latian maid.

440

The transformation of Cycnus into a Swan.
CYCNUS beheld the nymphs transform'd; ally'd
To their dead brother on the mortal side,
In friendship and affection nearer bound,
He left the cities and the realms he own'd,
Thro' pathlefs fields and lonely fhores to range,
And woods, made thicker by the fifters' change.
Whilft here, within the difmal gloom, alone,
The melancholy monarch made his moan,
His voice was leffen'd, as he try'd to speak,
And iffu'd thro' a long extended neck;

445

450

His hair transforms to down, his fingers meet

In skinny films, and shape his oary feet;

455

From both his fides the wings and feathers break,

And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak;
All Cycnus now into a Swan was turn'd,

Who ftill rememb'ring how his kinsman burn'd,
To folitary pools and lakes retires,

And loves the waters as oppos'd to fires.
Mean-while Apollo in a gloomy shade
(The native luftre of his brows decay'd)
Indulging forrow, fickens at the fight

Of his own funshine, and abhors the light;
The hidden griefs that in his bofom rife
Sadden his looks, and overcaft his eyes,
As when fome dusky orb obftructs his ray,
And fullies, in a dim eclipfe, the day.

460

465