Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/311

Book 7. I pray'd, and strange Convulsions mov'd the Oak, Which murmur'd, tho' by ambient Winds unshook: My trembling Hands, and stiff erected Hair, Exprest all Tokens of uncommon Fear; Yet both the Earth and sacred Oak I kist, And scarce cou'd hope, yet still I hop'd the best; For Wretches, whatsoe'er the Fates divine, Expound all Omens to their own Design. But now 'twas Night, when ev'n Distraction wears A pleasing Look, and Dreams beguile our Cares, Lo! the same Oak appears before my Eyes, Nor alter'd in its Shape, nor former Size; As many Ants the num'rous Branches bear, The same their Labour, and their frugal Care; The Branches too a like Commotion found, And shook th' industrious Creatures on the Ground, Who, by degrees (what's scarce to be believ'd) A nobler Form, and larger Bulk receiv'd, And on the Earth walk'd an unusual Pace, With manly Strides, and an erected Pace; Their num'rous Legs, and former Colour lost, The Insects cou'd a Human Figure boast. I wake, and waking find my Cares again, And to the unperforming Gods complain, And call their Promise, and Pretences vain. Yet in my Court I heard the murm'ring Voice Of Strangers, and a mixt uncommon Noise: But I suspected all was still a Dream, 'Till Telemon to my Apartment came, Op'ning the Door with an impetuous Haste, O come, said he, and see your Faith and Hopes surpast: I follow, and, confus'd with Wonder, view Those Shapes which my presaging Slumbers drew: I saw, and own'd, and call'd them Subjects; they Confest my Pow'r, submissive to my Sway. To