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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 eve, without a fun :
The burning ruins, with a fainter ray,
Supply the fun, and counterfeit a day,
A day, that ftill 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 paffion vents:
Wild for her fon, and frantic in her woes,
With hair dishevel'd, round the world she goes,
To feek where-e'er his body might be caft;
Till, on the borders of the Po, at last

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

And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart.
Her daughters too lament, and figh, and mourn,
(A fruitless tribute to their brother's urn;)
And beat their naked bofoms, and complain,
And call aloud for Phaeton in vain :

All the long night their mournful watch they keep,
And all the day ftand 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 eldest, Phaethufa, strove

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:

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A third in wild affliction, as the grieves,

Would rend her hair, but fills her hand with leaves;
One fees her thighs transform'd, another views

Her arms fhot out, and branching into boughs.
And now their legs, and breafts, and bodies, stood
Crufted with bark, and hardening into wood;
But ftill above were female heads difplay'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 the verdant fingers ftrips the leaves:
The blood came trickling, where the tore away
The leaves and bark: the maids were heard to say,
"Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear;
"A wounded daughter in each tree you tear;
"Farewel 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, harden'd into value by the fun,
Diftil for ever on the ftreams below:

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

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THE TRANSFORMATION OF CYCNUS INTO A SWAN.

CYCNUS beheld the nymphs transform'd, ally'd To their dead brother, on the mortal fide,

In friendship and affection nearer bound;
He left the cities and the realms he own'd,

Through 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 iffued through a long-extended neck;
His hair transforms to down, his fingers meet
In skinny films, and shape his oary feet;
From both his fides the wings and feathers break;
And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak:
All Cycnus now into a Iwan was turn'd,
Who, ftill remembering how his kinfman burn'd,
To folitary pools and lakes retires,

And loves the waters as oppos'd to fires.

Mean-while Apollo iu a gloomy shade
(The native luftre of his brows decay'd)
Indulging forrow, fickens at the fight
Of his own fun-fhine, and abhors the light:
The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rife,
Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes,
As when fome duíky orb obftructs his ray,
And fullies, in a dim eclipfe, the day.

Now fecretly with inward griefs he pin'd,
Now warm refentments to his griefs he join'd,
And now renounc'd his office to mankind.

E'er fince the birth of time, faid he, I've borne "A long ungrateful toil without return; "Let now fome other manage, if he dare,

"The fiery feeds, and mount the burning car,

"Or, if none else, let Jove his fortune try,
"And learn to lay his murdering thunder by;
"Then will he own, perhaps, but own too laté,
"My fon deferv'd not so fevere a fate."

The gods ftand round him, as he
mourns, and
He would refume the conduct of the day,
Nor let the world be loft in endless night :
Jove too himself, defcending from his height,
Excufes what had happen'd, and intreats,
Majestically mixing prayers and threats.
Prevail'd upon at length, again he took

The harnafs'd steeds, that still with horror fhook,
And plies them with the lash, and whips them on,
And, as he whips, upbraids them with his fon.

THE STORY OF CALISTO.

THE day was fettled in its course; and Jove
Walk'd the wide circuit of the heavens above,
To fearch if any cracks or flaws were made;
But all was fafe: the earth he then furvey'd,
And cast an eye on every different coast,
And

pray

every land; but on Arcadia most. Her fields he cloath'd, and chear'd her blasted facé With running fountains, and with fpringing grafs. No tracts of heaven's deftructive fire remain; The fields and woods revive, and nature fmiles again But, as the god walk'd to and fro the earth, And rais'd the plants, and gave the fpring its birth, By chance a fair Arcadian nymph he view'd, And felt the lovely charmer in his blood.

The

The nymph nor fpun, nor drefs'd with artful pride;
Her veft was gather'd up, her hair was ty`d;
Now in her hand a slender spear she bore,
Now a light quiver on her shoulders wore ;
To chafte Diana from her youth inclin'd,
The fprightly warriors of the wood she join'd.
Diana too the gentle huntress lov'd,

Nor was there one of all the nymphs that rov'd
O'er Mænalus, amid the maiden throng,

More favour'd once; but favour lafts not long.
The fun now fhone in all its strength, and drove
The heated virgin panting to a grove;

The grove around a grateful shadow cast :
She dropt her arrows, and her bow unbrac'd ;
She flung herself on the cool graffy bed;
And on the painted quiver rais'd her head.
Jove faw the charming huntress unprepar'd,
Stretch'd on the verdant turf, without a guard.
"Here I am fafe, he cries, from Juno's eye;
"Or should my jealous queen the theft defcry,
"Yet would I venture on a theft like this,
“And hand her rage for fuch, for such a bliss !”
Diana's fhape and habit straight he took,
Soften'd his brows, and smooth'd his awful look,
And mildly in a female accent spoke.

}

"How fares my girl? How went the morning chace ?” To whom the virgin, ftarting from the grafs, "All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer

"To Jove himself, though Jove himself were here." The god was nearer than fhe thought, and heard. Well-pleas'd himself before himself preferr❜d.

He

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