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Metamorphoses: Book The Fourteenth Analysis



Author: poem of Ovid Type: poem Views: 14

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                     NOW Glaucus, with a lover's haste, bounds o'er

                   The swelling waves, and seeks the Latian shore.

                   Messena, Rhegium, and the barren coast

                   Of flaming Aetna, to his sight are lost:

                   At length he gains the Tyrrhene seas, and views

                   The hills where baneful philters Circe brews;

                   Monsters, in various forms, around her press;

                   As thus the God salutes the sorceress.

        The        O Circe, be indulgent to my grief,

  Transformation   And give a love-sick deity relief.

     of Scylla     Too well the mighty pow'r of plants I know,

                   To those my figure, and new Fate I owe.

                   Against Messena, on th' Ausonian coast,

                   I Scylla view'd, and from that hour was lost.

                   In tend'rest sounds I su'd; but still the fair

                   Was deaf to vows, and pityless to pray'r.

                   If numbers can avail, exert their pow'r;

                   Or energy of plants, if plants have more.

                   I ask no cure; let but the virgin pine

                   With dying pangs, or agonies, like mine.

                     No longer Circe could her flame disguise,

                   But to the suppliant God marine, replies:

                     When maids are coy, have manlier aims in view;

                   Leave those that fly, but those that like, pursue.

                   If love can be by kind compliance won;

                   See, at your feet, the daughter of the Sun.

                     Sooner, said Glaucus, shall the ash remove

                   From mountains, and the swelling surges love;

                   Or humble sea-weed to the hills repair;

                   E'er I think any but my Scylla fair.

                     Strait Circe reddens with a guilty shame,

                   And vows revenge for her rejected flame.

                   Fierce liking oft a spight as fierce creates;

                   For love refus'd, without aversion, hates.

                   To hurt her hapless rival she proceeds;

                   And, by the fall of Scylla, Glaucus bleeds.

                     Some fascinating bev'rage now she brews;

                   Compos'd of deadly drugs, and baneful juice.

                   At Rhegium she arrives; the ocean braves,

                   And treads with unwet feet the boiling waves.

                   Upon the beach a winding bay there lies,

                   Shelter'd from seas, and shaded from the skies:

                   This station Scylla chose: a soft retreat

                   From chilling winds, and raging Cancer's heat.

                   The vengeful sorc'ress visits this recess;

                   Her charm infuses, and infects the place.

                   Soon as the nymph wades in, her nether parts

                   Turn into dogs; then at her self she starts.

                   A ghastly horror in her eyes appears;

                   But yet she knows not, who it is she fears;

                   In vain she offers from her self to run,

                   And drags about her what she strives to shun.

.

                               The End of the Fourteenth Book.

                            

                            

                Translated into English verse under the direction of

                Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,

                William Congreve and other eminent hands







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