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Within my dwelling? tell, O tell me where
Is that poor child, committed to thy care;
"Where the swift Sirens—Cyane—and all
The thousand nymphs attendant at her call?
Alas—for faith misplaced, and trust betrayed!"
The sad nurse trembled, and awhile delay'd;
Ashamed to tell the little that she knew,
And dreading worse than death that mother's face to view.
The woe was certain; but its cause unknown:
At length she spake in hesitating tone.
"Would that the giant brood, which fills thy thought,
Whose task is mischief, had this mischief wrought.
To unsuspected quarters turn thine eyes;
Think, if thou canst, thy sister Deities
On thee and thine have heap'd this load of woes,
And seek in heaven, not Phlegra, for thy foes!
Long time the Maiden thy commandment kept;
She lived in comfort, and in peace she slept;
Nor e'er, to seek the gropes, thy threshold overstept.
When o'er her favourite loom she labour'd long,
The Sirens soothed her with their gentle song:
With me conversing, she beguiled the day,
I watch'd her slumbers, and I shared her play.
