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To the stern shades, my Sire! O act unkind,
Act unbeseeming a paternal mind!
What crime hath moved thy wrath? did I rebel,
When Phlegra heard the battle tumult swell?
Was I conspiring with thy foes to heap
The cold Olympus upon Ossa's steep?
What guilt is mine? what sin did I commit,
Thus harshly banished to th' infernal pit?
O! blest their lot, to whom their captors give
Freedom at least in sight of heaven to live:
But I the bitter loss at once abide
Of cheerful daylight, and my maiden pride,
The Stygian tyrant's slave—miscall'd a bride!
O! flowers too well beloved! O! Mother wise,
Whose counsels Venus taught me to despise—
1 call thee, Mother! where in Ida's vales
Resound the Lydian pipe's discordant wails;
Where in thine ears the blood-stain'd Galli scream,
Where in thine eyes the Curete falchions gleam—
O! haste thee thence—restrain the robber's might,
Stay the dread car, and give me back to light!"
He, as she speaks and weeps, with pity hears,
Dries with his sable robe her decent tears;
