from METAMORPHOSES BOOK 14, LINES 1-31
Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso)trans. Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden et al.
Jamque giganteis injectam faucibus Aetnam,
Arvaque Cyclopum, quid rastra, quis usus aratri,
Nescia, nec quicquam junctis debentia bobus,
Liquerat Euboicus tumidarum cultor aquarum:
Liquerat et Zanclen, adversaque moenia Rhegi,
Navifragumque fretum, gemino quod littore pressum:
Ausoniae Siculaeque tenet confinia terrae.
Inde manu magna Tyrrhena per aequora vectus,
Herbiferos adiit colles, atque atria Glaucus
Sole satae Circes, variarum plena ferarum.
Quam simul aspexit, dicta, acceptaque salute,
"Diva Dei miserere, precor: nam sola levare
Tu potes hunc, dixit, (videar modo dignus) amorem.
Quanta sit herbarum, Titani, potentia nulli
Quam mihi cognitius, qui sum mutatus ab illis:
Neve mei non nota tibi sit causa furori,
Littore in Italico, Messenia moenia contra,
Scylla mihi visa est. Pudor est, promissa precesque
Blanditiasque meas, contemptaque verba referre.
At tu, sive aliquod regnum est in carmine, carmen
Ore move sacro; sive expugnantior herba est,
Utere tentatis operosae viribus herbae,
Nec medeare mihi sanesque haec vulnera mando;
Fineque nil opus est: partem ferat illa caloris."
At Circe (neque enim flammis habet aptius ulla
Talibus ingenium: seu causa est hujus in ipsa,
Seu Venus indicio facit hoc offensa paterno)
Talia verba refert: Melius sequerere volentem,
Optantemque eadem, parilique cupidine captam.
Dignus eras, ultro poteras certeque rogari:
Et, si spem dederis, mihi crede, rogaberis ultro."

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Now Glaucus, with a lover's haste, bounds o'er
The swelling waves, and seeks the Latian shore.
Messena, Rhegium, and the barren coast
Of flaming Aetna, to his sight are lost:



At length he gains the Tyrrhene seas, and views
The hills where baneful philters Circe brews;
Monsters, in various forms, around her press;
As thus the God salutes the sorceress.
"O Circe, be indulgent to my grief,
And give a love-sick deity relief.
Too well the mighty pow'r of plants I know,
To those my figure, and new Fate I owe.

Against Messena, on th' Ausonian coast,
I Scylla view'd, and from that hour was lost.
In tend'rest sounds I su'd; but still the fair
Was deaf to vows, and pityless to pray'r.
If numbers can avail, exert their pow'r;
Or energy of plants, if plants have more.
I ask no cure; let but the virgin pine
With dying pangs, or agonies, like mine."
No longer Circe could her flame disguise,
But to the suppliant God marine, replies:
"When maids are coy, have manlier aims in view;
Leave those that fly, but those that like, pursue.
If love can be by kind compliance won;
See, at your feet, the daughter of the Sun."


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