Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/147

Book 3. Deep in the dreary Den, conceal'd from Day, Sacred to Mars, a mighty Dragon lay, Bloated with Poison to a monstrous Size; Fire broke in Flashes when he glanc'd his Eyes: His tow'ring Crest was glorious to behold, His Shoulders and his Sides were scal'd with Gold; Three Tongues he brandish'd when he charg'd his Foes; His Teeth stood jaggy in three dreadful Rowes. The Tyrians in the Den for Water sought, And with their Urns explor'd the hollow Vault: From Side to Side their empty Urns rebound, And rowse the sleeping Serpent with the Sound. Strait he bestirs him, and is seen to rise; And now with dreadful Hissings fills the Skies, And darts his forky Tongues, and rowles his glaring Eyes. The Tyrians drop their Vessels in the Fright, All pale and trembling at the hideous Sight. Spire above Spire uprear'd in Air he stood, And gazing round him, over-look'd the Wood: Then floating on the Ground in Circles rowl'd; Then leap'd upon them in a mighty Fold. Of such a Bulk, and such a monst'rous Size, The Serpent in the Polar Circle lyes, That stretches over half the Northern Skies. In vain the Tyrians on their Arms rely, In vain attempt to fight, in vain to fly: All their Endeavours and their Hopes are vain; Some die entangl'd in the winding Train; Some are devour'd, or feel a loathsom Death, Swoln up with Blasts of Pestilential Breath. And now the scorching Sun was mounted high, In all its Lustre, to the Noon day Sky; When, anxious for his Friends, and fill'd with Cares, To search the Woods th' impatient Chief prepares. A Lion's Hide around his Loins he wore, The well-poiz'd Jav'lin to the Field he bore Inur'd