Page:Rape of Prosperine - Claudian (1854).djvu/54

 Yes! once was Proserpine thy sole delight: Now, as thou seest, enchain'd in blackest night, Enduring torments; while, with choral song, Thou proudly passest Phrygia's towns among. O! if one spark of love still warms thy heart, And—not a tigress fell—but—thou my Mother art, Release thy suppliant from this dungeon drear; Or—that denied—be thou my comfort here!"
 * She spake, and strove to raise her trembling hands;

The load of iron her attempt withstands, And its loud clang the Matron's slumber breaks: She, pleased to find it but a dream, awakes; Yet grieved her dear one's fond embrace to lose, In frantic haste to great Cybelle goes, And thus accosts her: "Here no more I stay; O, holy Mother, I am call'd away By sacred duty to the pledge I left Exposed to guile, of guardianship bereft. My palace halls the Cyclops forged in vain; Wide-spreading rumour tells what they contain: Trinacria fails to hide the cherish'd pile; Too known, too famous is the noble isle. Some humbler resting-place my soul desires, Apart from Etna's roar, and penal fires.