Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/376

200 But Arethusa leaping from her Bed, First lifts above the Waves her beauteous Head; And, crying from afar, thus to Cyrene said. O Sister! not with causeless Fear possest, No Stranger Voice disturbs thy tender Breast. 'Tis Aristæus, tis thy darling Son, Who to his careless Mother makes his Moan. Near his Paternal Stream he sadly stands, With down-cast Eyes, wet Cheeks, and folded Hands: Upbraiding Heav'n from whence his Lineage came, And cruel calls the Gods, and cruel thee, by Name.
 * Cyrene mov'd with Love, and seiz'd with Fear,

Cries out, conduct my Son, conduct him here: Tis lawful for the Youth, deriv'd from Gods, To view the Secrets of our deep Abodes. At once she wav'd her Hand on either side, At once the Ranks of swelling Streams divide. Two rising Heaps of liquid Crystal stand, And leave a Space betwixt, of empty Sand. Thus safe receiv'd, the downward track he treads, Which to his Mother's watry Palace leads. With wond'ring Eyes he views the secret Store Of Lakes, that pent in hollow Caverns, roar. He hears the crackling Sound of Coral Woods, And sees the secret Source of subterranean Floods. And where, distinguish'd in their sev'ral Cells, The Fount of Phasis; and of Lycus dwells;