Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/196

What caus'd her Hate, the Goddess thus confest,
What caus'd her Journey now was more than guest.
That Hate, relentless, its Revenge did want,
And that Revenge the Furies soon could grant:
They could the Glory of proud Thebes efface,
And hide in Ruin the Cadmëan Race.
For this she largely promises, entreats,
And to Entreaties adds Imperial Threats.
Then fell Tisiphonè with Rage was stung,
And from her Mouth th' untwisted Serpents flung.
To gain this trifling Boon, there is no need
(She cry'd) informal Speeches to proceed.
Whatever thou command'st to do, is done;
Believe it finish'd, tho' not yet begun.
But from these melancholy Seats repair
To happier Mansions, and to purer Air.
She spoke: The Goddess, darting upwards, flies,
Aud joyous re-ascends her native Skies:
Nor enter'd there, 'till 'round her Iris threw
Ambrosial Sweets, and pour'd Celestial Dew.
The faithful Fury, guiltless of Delays,
With cruel Haste the dire Command obeys.
Girt in a bloody Gown, a Torch she shakes,
And 'round her Neck twines speckled Wreaths of Snakes.
Fear, and Dismay, and agonizing Pain,
With frantick Rage, compleat her loveless Train.
To Thebes her Flight she sped, and Hell forsook;
At her Approach the Theban Turrets shook:
The Sun shrunk back, thick Clouds the Day o'er-cast,
And springing Greens were wither'd, as she past.
Now, dismal Yellings heard, strange Spectres seen
Confound as much the Monarch, as the Queen.
In vain to quit the Palace they prepar'd,
Tisiphonè was there, and kept the Ward.
She wide-extended her unfriendly Arms,
And all the Fury lavish'd all her Harms.

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