Ovid

“ In vain the fallow Fields the Peasant tills,
The Seed, corrupted e'er 'tis sown, she kills.
The fruitful Soil, that once such Harvests bore,
Now mocks the Farmer's Care, and teems no more.
And the rich Grain which fills the furrow'd Glade,
Rots in the Seed, or shrivels in the Blade;
Or too much Sun burns up, or too much Rain,
Drowns, or black Blights destroy the blasted Plain;
Or greedy Birds the new-sown Seed devour,
Or Darnel, Thistles, and a Crop impure
Of knotted Grass along the Acres stand,
And spread their thriving Roots thro' all the Land. ”

“ Restless with these, thro' frosty Night she goes,
Nor fears the cutting Winds, nor heeds the Snows;
And, when the Morning-Star the Day renews,
From East to West her absent Child pursues.
⁠Thirsty at last by long Fatigue she grows,
But meets no Spring, no Riv'let near her flows. ”

“ The Sprinklings speckle where they hit the Skin,
And a long Tail does from his Body spin;
His Arms are turn'd to Legs, and lest his Size
Shou'd make him mischievous, and he might rise
Against Mankind, diminutive's his Frame,
Less than a Lizzard, but in Shape the same.
Amaz'd the Dame the wondrous Sight beheld,
And weeps, and fain wou'd touch her quondam Child. ”

“ And, what our just Resentment bids us, do.
⁠The Railers Laugh, our Threats and Wrath despise,
And clap their Hands, and make a scolding Noise:
But in the Fact they're seiz'd; beneath their Nails
Feathers they feel, and on their Faces Scales;
Their horny Beaks at once each other scare,
Their Arms are plum'd, and on their backs they bear
Py'd Wings, and flutter in the fleeting Air.
Chatt'ring, the Scandal of the Woods they fly,
And there continue still their clam'rous Cry:
The same their Eloquence, as Maids, or Birds,
Now only Noise, and nothing then but Words. ”

“ The Mother, and the frighted Virgin side;
With Shrieks, and doleful Cries they rend the Air:
Their Shrieks confounded with the Din of War,
With clashing Arms, and Groanings of the Slain,
They grieve unpitied, and unheard complain. ”

“ But hither thro' the Æther made my Way.
By me, the Goddess who the Fields befriends,
These Gifts, the greatest of all Blessings, sends.
The Grain she gives if in your Soil you sow,
Thence wholsom Food in golden Crops shall grow.
⁠Soon as the Secret to the King was known,
He grudg'd the Glory of the Service done,
And wickedly resolv'd to make it all his own.
To hide his Purpose, he invites his Guest,
The Friend of Ceres to a royal Feast.
And when sweet Sleep his heavy Eyes had seiz'd,
The Tyrant with his Steel attempts his Breast. ”

“ And the moist Ground smiles with enamel'd Flow'rs.
The chearful Birds their airy Carols sing,
And the whole Year is one eternal Spring.
⁠Here, while young Proserpine, among the Maids,
Diverts her self in these delicious shades;
While like a Child with busy Speed and Care
She gathers Lillies here, and Vi'lets there ”

“ She cleaves the Ground; thro' Caverns dark I run
A diff'rent Current, while he keeps his own.
To dear Ortygia she conducts my Way,
And here I first review the welcome Day.
⁠Here Arethusa stopt; then Ceres takes
Her golden Carr, and yokes her fiery Snakes;
With a just Rein, along Mid-heaven she flies
O'er Earth, and Seas, and cuts the yielding Skies. ”

“ And, as fierce Hawks the trembling Doves pursue,
From him I fled, and after me he flew.
First by Orchemenus I took my Flight,
And soon had Psophis and Cyllene in Sight;
Behind me then high Mænalus I lost,
And craggy Erimanthus scal'd with Frost;
Elis was next; thus far the Ground I trod
With nimble Feet before the distanc'd God.
But here I lagg'd, unable to sustain
The labour longer, and my Flight maintain;
While he more strong, more patient of the Toil,
And fir'd with Hopes of Beauty's speedy Spoil,
Gain'd my lost Ground, and by redoubled Pace. ”

“ Thy Darts, which Ceres' Daughter wou'd despise.
She too our Empire treats with awkard Scorn;
Such Insolence no longer's to be born.
Revenge our slighted Reign, and with thy Dart
Transfix the Virgin's to the Uncle's Heart.
⁠She said; and from his Quiver strait he drew
A Dart that surely wou'd the Business do.
She guides his Hand, she makes her Touch the Test,
And of a thousand Arrows chose the best:
No Feather better pois'd, a sharper Head,
None had, and sooner none, and surer sped.
He bends his Bow, he draws it to his Ear,
Thro' Pluto's Heart it drives, and fixes there. ”

“ Nor Leisure serves, nor is it worth your Ear.
That causeless Doubt remove, O Muse rehearse,
The Goddess cry'd, your ever-grateful Verse.
Beneath a chequer'd Shade she takes her Seat,
And bids the Sister her whole Song repeat.
The Sister thus; Calliopè we chose
For the Performance. The sweet Virgin rose,
With Ivy crown'd; she tunes her golden Strings,
And to her Harp this Composition sings.
The Song of the Muses.
⁠First Ceres taught the lab'ring Hind to plow
The pregnant Earth, and quickning Seed to sow. ”

“ O happy Muses! she with Rapture cry'd,
Who, safe from Cares, on this fair Hill reside;
Blest in your Seat, and free your selves to please
With Joys of Study, and with glorious Ease.
The Fate of Pyreneus.
⁠Then one replies: O Goddess, sit to guide
Our humble Works, and in our Choir preside,
Who sure wou'd wisely to these Fields repair,
To taste our Pleasures, and our Labours share,
Were not your Virtue, and superior Mind
To higher Arts, and nobler Deeds inclin'd ”

“ The Way you go your Lover will pursue.
Then, in a flying Posture wildly plac'd,
And daring from that Height himself to cast,
The Wretch fell headlong, and the Ground bestrew'd
With broken Bones, and Stains of guilty Blood.
The Story of the Pierides.
⁠The Muse yet spoke; when they began to hear
A Noise of Wings that flutter'd in the Air ”

“ He cry'd, to punish your presumptuous Crime;
Beware, my Friends; his Friends were soon prepar'd,
Their Sight averting, high the Head he rear'd,
And Gorgon on his Foes severely star'd.
Vain Shift! says Thescelus, with Aspect bold,
Thee, and thy Bugbear Monster I behold
With Scorn; he lifts his Arm, but e're he threw
The Dart, the Heroe to a Statue grew.
In the same Posture still the Marble stands,
And holds the Warrior's Weapons in it's Hands. ”

“ Rounder his Head, and larger are his Eyes.
His Arms and Body waste, but are supply'd
With yellow Pinions flagging on each Side.
His Nails grow crooked, and are turn'd to Claws,
And lazily along his heavy Wings he draws. ”

“ And thro' th' insensate Rock wou'd force a Speech.
⁠This Eryx saw, but seeing wou'd not own;
The Mischief by your selves, he cries, is done,
'Tis your cold Courage turns your Hearts to Stone.
Come, follow me; fall on the stripling Boy,
Kill him, and you his magick Arms destroy. ”