Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/221

Book 13. To me, tho' pow'rful in a num'rous Train Of Sisters, Sprung from Gods, who rule the Main, My native Seas could scarce a Refuge prove, To shun the Fury of the Cyclops' Love. Tears choak'd her Utt'rance here; the pity'ng Maid With Marble Fingers wip'd them off, and said; My dearest Goddess, let thy Scylla know, (For I am faithful) whence these Sorrows flow. The Maid's Intreaties o'er the Nymph yrevailprevail [sic], Who thus to Scylla tells the mournful Tale.

Acis, the lovely Youth, whose Loss I mourn, From Faunus, and the Nymph Symethis born, Was both his Parent's Pleasure; but, to me Was all that Love could make a Lover be. The Gods our Minds in mutual Bands did join: I was his only Joy, and he was mine. Now sixteen Summers the sweet Youth had seen; And doubtful Down began to shade his Chin: When Polyphemus first disturb'd our Joy; And lov'd me fiercely, as I lov'd the Boy. Ask not which Passion in my Soul was high'r, My last Aversion, or my first Desire: Nor this the greater was, nor that the less; Both were alike, for both were in Excess. Thee, Venus, thee, both Heav'n, and Earth obey; Immense thy Pow'r, and boundless is thy Sway. The