Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/84

12 But stopt, for fear, thus violently driv'n, The Sparks should catch his Axle-tree of Heav'n. Remembring in the Fates, a time when Fire Shou'd to the Battlements of Heav'n aspire, And all his blazing Worlds above shou'd burn; And all th' inferior Globe to Cinders turn. His dire Artill'ry thus dismist, he bent His thoughts to some securer Punishment: Concludes to pour a watry Deluge down; And what he durst not burn, resolves to drown. The Northern Breath, that freezes Floods, he binds; With all the race of Cloud-dispelling Winds: The South he loos'd, who Night, and Horror brings; And Foggs are shaken from his flaggy Wings. From his divided Beard two Streams he pours, His Head, and rhumy Eyes distil in Show'rs. With Rain his Robe, and heavy Mantle flow: And lazy Mists are lowring on his Brow; Still as he swept along, with his clench'd Fist He squeez'd the Clouds, th' imprison'd Clouds resist: The Skies from Pole to Pole, with Peals resound; And Show'rs inlarg'd, come pouring on the Ground. Then, clad in Colours of a various Dye, Junonian Iris breeds a new supply To feed the Clouds: Impetuous Rain descends; The bearded Corn beneath the Burden bends: Defrauded Crowns deplore their perish'd Grain; And the long Labours of the Year are vain. Nor from his Patrimonial Heaven alone Is Jove content to pour his Vengeance down; Aid from his Brother of the Seas he craves, To help him with Auxiliary Waves. The watry Tyrant calls his Brooks and Floods, Who rowl from mossie Caves (their moist abodes;) And with perpetual Urns his Palace fill: To whom in brief, he thus imparts his Will.

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