Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/110

98 Grief, Rage, Amazement, could no Speech afford, But from the Sheath lie drew th' avenging Sword: The Guilty fled: The Benefit of Night, That favour'd first the Sin, secur'd the Flight. Long wandring thro' the spacious Fields, she bent Her Voyage to th' Arabian Continent; Then pass'd the Region which Panchæa join'd, And flying, left the palmy Plains behind. Nine times the Moon had mew'd her Horns; at length With Travel weary, unsupply'd with Strength, And with the Burden of her Womb oppress'd, Sabæan Fields afford her needful Rest: There, loathing Life, and yet of Death afraid, In Anguish of her Spirit, thus she pray'd. Ye Pow'rs, if any so propitious are T' accept my Penitence, and hear my Pray'r; Your Judgments, I confess, are justly sent; Great Sins deserve as great a Punishment: Yet since my Life the Living will profane, And since my Death the happy Dead will stain, A middle State your Mercy may bestow, Betwixt the Realms above, and those below: Some other Form to wretched Myrrha give, Nor let her wholly die, nor wholly live. The Pray'rs of Penitents are never vain; At least she did her last Request obtain: For while she spoke, the Ground began to rise, And gather'd round her Feet, her Legs, and Thighs; Her Toes in Roots descend, and spreading wide, A firm Foundation for the Trunk provide: Her solid Bones convert to solid Wood, To Pith her Marrow, and to Sap her Blood: Her Arms are Boughs, her Fingers change their Kind, Her tender Skin is harden'd into Rind. And now the rising Tree her Womb invests, Now, shooting upwards still, invades her Breasts, And