Metamorphoses: Book The Fourteenth

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.

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                              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