Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books Translated by the most Eminent Hands. Adorn'd with Sculptures |
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Continu'd by Mr. Croxall.
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 | Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books |  |
Continu'd by Mr. Croxall.
Thus the sweet Artist in a wond'rous Shade
Of verdant Trees, which Harmony had made,
Encircled sate, with his own Triumphs crown'd,
Of listning Birds, and Savages around.
Again the trembling Strings he dext'rous tries,
Again from Discord makes soft Musick rise.
Then tunes his Voice: O Muse, from whom I sprung,
Jove be my Theme, and Thou inspite my Song
To Jove my grateful Voice I oft have rais'd,
Oft his Almighty Pow'r with Pleasure prais'd.
I sung the Giants, in a solemn Strain,
Blasted and Thunder-struck on Phlegra's Plain.
Now be my Lire in softer Accents mov'd,
To sing of blooming Boys, by Gods belov'd;
And to relate what Virgins, void of Shame,
Have suffer'd Vengeance for a lawless Flame.
Of verdant Trees, which Harmony had made,
Encircled sate, with his own Triumphs crown'd,
Of listning Birds, and Savages around.
Again the trembling Strings he dext'rous tries,
Again from Discord makes soft Musick rise.
339
Jove be my Theme, and Thou inspite my Song
To Jove my grateful Voice I oft have rais'd,
Oft his Almighty Pow'r with Pleasure prais'd.
I sung the Giants, in a solemn Strain,
Blasted and Thunder-struck on Phlegra's Plain.
Now be my Lire in softer Accents mov'd,
To sing of blooming Boys, by Gods belov'd;
And to relate what Virgins, void of Shame,
Have suffer'd Vengeance for a lawless Flame.
The King of Gods once felt the burning Joy,
And sigh'd for lovely Ganimede of Troy:
Long was he puzzled to assume a Shape
Most fit and expeditious for the Rape;
A Bird's was proper, yet he scorns to wear
Any but That which might his Thunder bear.
Down with his masquerading Wings he flies,
And bears the little Trojan to the Skies;
Where now, in Robes of heav'nly Purple drest,
He serves the Nectar at th'Almighty's Feast,
To slighted Juno an unwelcome Guest:
And sigh'd for lovely Ganimede of Troy:
Long was he puzzled to assume a Shape
Most fit and expeditious for the Rape;
A Bird's was proper, yet he scorns to wear
Any but That which might his Thunder bear.
Down with his masquerading Wings he flies,
And bears the little Trojan to the Skies;
Where now, in Robes of heav'nly Purple drest,
He serves the Nectar at th'Almighty's Feast,
To slighted Juno an unwelcome Guest:
| Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books | |