Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books Translated by the most Eminent Hands. Adorn'd with Sculptures |
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| II. |
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| IV. |
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The Rape of Proserpine.
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| VIII. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
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| XIV. |
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 | Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books |  |
The Rape of Proserpine.
Near Enna's Walls a spacious Lake is spread,
Fam'd for the sweetly-singing Swans it bred;
Pergusa is its Name: And never more
Were heard, or sweeter on Cayster's Shore.
Woods crown the Lake; and Phœbus ne'er invades
The tufted Fences, or offends the Shades.
Fresh fragrant Breezes fan the verdant Bow'rs,
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.
Fam'd for the sweetly-singing Swans it bred;
Pergusa is its Name: And never more
Were heard, or sweeter on Cayster's Shore.
Woods crown the Lake; and Phœbus ne'er invades
The tufted Fences, or offends the Shades.
Fresh fragrant Breezes fan the verdant Bow'rs,
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 herself in these delicious Shades;
While like a Child with busy Speed and Care
She gathers Lillies here, and Vi'lets there;
While first to fill her little Lap she strives,
Hell's grizly Monarch at the Shade arrives;
Sees her thus sporting on the flow'ry Green,
And loves the blooming Maid, as soon as seen.
His urgent Flame impatient of Delay;
Swift as his Thought he seiz'd the beauteous Prey,
And bore her in his sooty Carr away.
The frighted Goddess to her Mother cries,
But all in vain, for now far off she flies;
Far she behind her leaves her Virgin Train;
To them too cries, and cries to them in vain.
And, while with Passion she repeats her Call,
The Vi'lets from her Lap, and Lillies fall:
She misses 'em, poor Heart! and makes new Moan;
Her Lillies, ah! are lost, her Vi'lets gone.
Diverts herself in these delicious Shades;
While like a Child with busy Speed and Care
She gathers Lillies here, and Vi'lets there;
While first to fill her little Lap she strives,
Hell's grizly Monarch at the Shade arrives;
Sees her thus sporting on the flow'ry Green,
And loves the blooming Maid, as soon as seen.
161
Swift as his Thought he seiz'd the beauteous Prey,
And bore her in his sooty Carr away.
The frighted Goddess to her Mother cries,
But all in vain, for now far off she flies;
Far she behind her leaves her Virgin Train;
To them too cries, and cries to them in vain.
And, while with Passion she repeats her Call,
The Vi'lets from her Lap, and Lillies fall:
She misses 'em, poor Heart! and makes new Moan;
Her Lillies, ah! are lost, her Vi'lets gone.
O'er Hills, the Ravisher, and Vallies speeds,
By Name encouraging his foamy Steeds;
He rattles o'er their Necks the rusty Reins,
And ruffles with the Stroke their shaggy Manes.
O'er Lakes he whirls his flying Wheels, and comes
To the Palici breathing sulph'rous Fumes.
And thence to where the Bacchiads of Renown
Between unequal Havens built their Town;
Where Arethusa, round th'imprison'd Sea,
Extends her crooked Coast to Cyanè;
The Nymph who gave the neighb'ring Lake a Name,
Of all Sicilian Nymphs the first in Fame.
She from the Waves advanc'd her beauteous Head,
The Goddess knew, and thus to Pluto said;
Farther thou shalt not with the Virgin run;
Ceres unwilling, canst thou be her Son?
The Maid shou'd be by sweet Perswasion won.
Force suits not with the Softness of the Fair;
For, if great things with small I may compare,
Me Anapis once lov'd; a milder Course
He took, and won me by his Words, not Force.
By Name encouraging his foamy Steeds;
He rattles o'er their Necks the rusty Reins,
And ruffles with the Stroke their shaggy Manes.
O'er Lakes he whirls his flying Wheels, and comes
To the Palici breathing sulph'rous Fumes.
And thence to where the Bacchiads of Renown
Between unequal Havens built their Town;
Where Arethusa, round th'imprison'd Sea,
Extends her crooked Coast to Cyanè;
The Nymph who gave the neighb'ring Lake a Name,
Of all Sicilian Nymphs the first in Fame.
She from the Waves advanc'd her beauteous Head,
The Goddess knew, and thus to Pluto said;
Farther thou shalt not with the Virgin run;
Ceres unwilling, canst thou be her Son?
The Maid shou'd be by sweet Perswasion won.
Force suits not with the Softness of the Fair;
For, if great things with small I may compare,
Me Anapis once lov'd; a milder Course
He took, and won me by his Words, not Force.
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Then, stretching out her Arms, she stopt his Way;
But he, impatient of the shortest Stay,
Throws to his dreadful Steeds the slacken'd Rein,
And strikes his Iron Sceptre thro' the Main;
The Depths profound thro' yielding Waves he cleaves,
And to Hell's Center a free Passage leaves;
Down sinks his Chariot, and his Realms of Night
The God soon reaches with a rapid Flight.
But he, impatient of the shortest Stay,
Throws to his dreadful Steeds the slacken'd Rein,
And strikes his Iron Sceptre thro' the Main;
The Depths profound thro' yielding Waves he cleaves,
And to Hell's Center a free Passage leaves;
Down sinks his Chariot, and his Realms of Night
The God soon reaches with a rapid Flight.
| Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books | |