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Which of Heir's daughters bade her torch inflame,
Her goad excite thee to this deed of shame:
That thus thou darest from thy depths to rise,
And with Tartarean car profane the skies?
Seek Lethe's nymphs, unlovely though they be:
The dismal Furies are fit brides for thee.
Great Jove's peculiar realm forbear to haunt:
"With thine own night contented, hence! avaunt!
Vex not our world with bold intrusive tread,
Nor mix the living with the buried dead!"
As on they press, nor to her menace yield,
She smites the coursers with her Gorgon shield:
Strives with its hissing snakes to bar the way;
Displays their crests outstretched in dread array;
While, poised its blow to deal, her beaming lance
O'er the dark chariot sheds a fitful glance.
And soon had it been hurl'd; but Jove from heaven
His lightning sign of peace restored hath given,
And of permitted wedlock: witness bright
Bear the glad flames, and sanctify the rite;
And the deep thunder, as it rolls among
The parted clouds, intones its bridal song.
Then too, compelled the rescue to forsake,
Dian her bow restrain'd, and mourning spake.
