Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/244

224 Nor did her Face alone her Charms confess, Her Voice was ravishing, and pleas'd no less. When-e'er she sung, so melting were her Strains, The Flocks unfed seem'd list'ning on the Plains; The Rivers would stand still, the Cedars bend; And Birds neglect their Pinions, to attend; The Savage Kind in Forest-Wilds grow tame; And Canens, from her heav'nly Voice, her Name. Hymen had now in some ill-fated Hour Their Hands united, as their Hearts before. Whilst their soft Moments in Delights they waste, And each new Day was dearer than the past; Picus would sometimes o'er the Forests rove, And mingle sports with Intervals of Love. It chanc'd, as once the foaming Boar he chac'd, His Jewels sparkling on his Tyrian Vest, Lascivious Circe well the Youth survey'd, As simpling on the flow'ry Hills she stray'd. Her wishing Eyes their silent Message tell, And from her Lap the verdant Mischief fell. As she attempts at Words, his Courser springs O'er Hills and Lawns, and ev'n a Wish outwings. Thou shalt not 'scape me so, pronounc'd the Dame, If Plants have Pow'r, and Spells be not a Name. She said—and forthwith form'd a Boar of Air, That sought the Covert with dissembled Fear. Swift to the Thicket Picus wings his Way On Foot, to chase the visionary Prey. Now she invokes the Daughters of the Night, Does noxious Juices smear, and Charms recite; Such as can veil the Moon's more feeble Fire, Or shade the Golden Lustre of her Sire. In filthy Fogs she hides the chearful Noon; The Guard at Distance, and the Youth alone, By those fair Eyes, she cries, and ev'ry Grace That finish all the Wonders of your Face, O!