Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/112

100 The Drop, the Thing, which late the Tree inclos'd, And late the yawning Bark to Life expos'd; A Babe, a Boy, a beauteous Youth appears, And lovelier than himself at riper Years. Now to the Queen of Love he gave Desires, And, with her Pains, reveng'd his Mother's Fires.

For Cytherëa's Lips while Cupid prest, He with a heedless Arrow raz'd her Breast. The Goddess felt it, and with Fury stung, The wanton Mischief from her Bosom flung: Yet thought at first the Danger slight, but found The Dart too faithful, and too deep the Wound. Fir'd with a, mortal Beauty, she disdains To haunt th' Idalian Mount, or Phrygian Plains. She seeks not, nor her Paphian Shrines, Nor Amathus, that teems with brazen Mines: Ev'n Heav'n it self with all its Sweets unsought, Adonis far a sweeter Heav'n is thought. On him she hangs, and fonds with ev'ry Art, And never, never knows from him to part. She, whose soft Limbs had only been display'd On rosie Beds beneath the Myrtle Shade, Whose pleasing Care was to improve each Grace, And add more Charms to an unrival'd Face, Now buskin'd, like the Virgin Huntress, goes Thro' Woods, and pathless Wilds, and Mountain-Snows. With her own tuneful Voice she joys to cheer The panting Hounds, that chace the flying Deer. She runs the Labyrinth of fearful Hares, But fearless Beasts, and dang'rous Prey forbears: Hunts