Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/127

Book 11. And, least their Passion shou'd be unsupply'd, The rabble Crew, by chance, at Distance spy'd Where Oxen, straining at the heavy Yoke, The fallow'd Field with slow Advances broke; Nigh which the brawny Peasants dug the Soil, Procuring Food with long laborious Toil. These, when they saw the ranting Throng draw near, Quitted their Tools, and fled, possest with Fear. Long Spades, and Rakes of mighty Size were found, Carelesly left upon the broken Ground. With these the furious Lunaticks engage, And first the lab'ring Oxen feel their Rage; Then to the Poet they return with Speed, Whose Fate was, past Prevention, now decreed: In vain he lifts his suppliant Hands, in vain He tries, before, his never-failing Strain. And, from those sacred Lips, whose thrilling Sound Fierce Tigers, and incensate Rocks cou'd wound, Ah Gods! how moving was the mournful Sight! To see the fleeting Soul now take its Flight. Thee the soft Warblers of the feather'd Kind Bewail'd; for thee thy savage Audience pin'd; Those Rocks and Woods that oft thy Strain had led, Mourn for their Charmer, and lament him dead; And drooping Trees their leafy Glories shed. Näïds and Dryads with dishevel'd Hair Promiscuous weep, and Scarfs of Sable wear; Nor cou'd the River-Gods conceal their Moan, But with new Floods of Tears augment their own. His mangled Limbs lay scatter'd all around, His Head, and Harp a better Fortune found; In Hebrus' Streams they gently roul'd along, And sooth'd the Waters with a mournful Song. Soft deadly Notes the lifeless Tongue inspire, A doleful Tune sounds from the floating Lyre; Rh