Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/93

Book The God of Light, aspiring to her Bed, Hopes what he seeks with flattering Fancies fed; And is, by his own Oracles mis-led. And as in empty Fields the Stubble burns, Or nightly Travellers, when Day returns, Their useless Torches on dry Hedges throw, That catch the Flames, and kindle all the row; So burns the God, consuming in Desire, And feeding in his Breast a fruitless Fire: Her well turn'd Neck he view'd (her Neck was bare) And on her Shoulders her dishevel'd Hair; Oh were it comb'd, said He, with what a Grace Wou'd ev'ry waving Curl become her Face! He view'd her Eyes, like heav'nly Lamps that shone, He view'd her Lips too sweet to view alone, Her taper Fingers, and her panting Breast; He praises all he sees, and for the rest Believes the Beauties yet unseen are best: Swift as the Wind, the Damsel fled away, Nor did for these alluring Speeches stay: Stay Nymph, he cry'd, I follow not a Foe, Thus from the Lyon trips the trembling Doe; Thus from the Wolf the frighten'd Lamb removes, And, from pursuing Faulcons, fearful Doves; Thou shunn'st a God, and shunn'st a God, that loves. Ah, least some Thorn shou'd pierce thy tender Foot, Or thou shoud'st fall in flying my pursuit! To sharp uneven Ways thy steps decline; Abate thy Speed, and I will bate of mine. Yet think from whom thou dost so rashly fly; Nor basely born, nor Shepherd's Swain am I. Perhaps thou knowst not my superior State; And from that ignorance proceeds thy Hate. Me Claros, Delphi, Tenedos obey; These Hands the Patareian Scepter sway. The