But when upon the funeral pyre
Her kindred placed the maid, 70
And curling round the greedy fire,
In vivid lustre play'd—
"My soul," thus spoke the god of day,
"Its own bright race abhors to slay;
O'erwhelm'd by that most wretched death 75
Which stopp'd the hapless mother's breath."
This said, with one short step he came,
And snatch'd his infant from the flame;
Through whose divided channel trod
The feet of the departing god. 80
The rescued child he gave to share
Magnesian centaur's fostering care;
And learn of him the soothing art
That wards from man disease's dart. 82
Of those whom nature made to feel 85
Corroding ulcers gnaw their frame;
Or stones far hurl'd, or glittering steel,
All to the great physician came.
By summer's heat or winter's cold
Oppress'd, of him they sought relief. 90
Each deadly pang his skill controll'd,
And found a balm for every grief.
On some the force of charmed strains he tried,
To some the medicated draught applied:
Some limbs he placed the amulets around; 95
Some from the trunk he cut, and made the patient sound. 95
But wisdom yields to sordid gain
Hands which the golden bribes contain
Are bound by them alone.
At their command the grasp of death 100
Restored the man whose forfeit breath [1]
- ↑ Alluding, perhaps, to the fable of the resuscitated Hippol-
