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Not those so fair, which, from his course below,
Admiring Simoïs views on Ida grow;
Nor those, where rich Orontes' waters rove,
Which rise the glories of Apollo's grove.
In sister beauty side by side they stood,
And smiled together on the subject wood.
These for her brands she chose, and, swift as thought,
Well pleased on both in turn her will she wrought.
With girded vest, bared arm, and brandish'd blade,
On each fair stem her deadly blows she laid:
With all her strength impelled them as they yield,
Till down they crash, recumbent on the field.
While o'er their loss the Fauns and Dryads weep,
She grasps them both, and up th' Etnæan steep,
Her loose hair floating on the mountain breeze—
Bears, as she climbs, the fresh and leafy trees.
Nor heat, nor pathless rock her course withstands;
Her bold foot tramples on th' indignant sands.
So stalks Megæra, rapt by fierce desire
To light her baleful yews with hellish fire;
In Cadmus' courts to sow strife's deadly seed,
Or blast Mycenæ by some murderous deed.
As on she moves, the startled Shades retreat;
Hell's floor resounds beneath her iron feet:
