And art thou she, whom I have sought around
The World, and have at length so sadly found;
So found is worse than lost: with mutual Words
Thou answer'st not, no Voice thy Tongue affords:
But sighs are deeply drawn from out thy Breast;
And Speech deny'd, by Lowing is express'd.
Unknowing I, prepar'd thy Bridal Bed,
With empty hopes of happy Issue fed.
But now the Husband of a Herd must be
Thy Mate, and bell'wing Sons thy Progeny.
Oh, were I mortal, Death might bring Relief:
But now my God-head but extends my Grief:
Prolongs my Woes, of which no end I see,
And makes me curse my Immortality!
More had he said, but fearful of her stay,
The Starry Guardian drove his Charge away,
To some fresh Pasture; on a hilly Height
He sate himself, and kept her still in Sight.
The Eyes of Argus Transform'd into
a Peacock's Train.
Now Jove no longer cou'd her Suff'rings bear;
But call'd in haste his airy Messenger,
The Son of Maïa, with severe Decree
To kill the Keeper, and to set her free.
With all his Harness soon the God was sped,
His flying Hat was fastned on his Head,
Wings on his Heels were hung, and in his Hand
He holds the Vertue of the Snaky Wand.
The liquid Air his moving Pinions wound,
And, in the Moment shoot him on the Ground.
Before he came in Sight, the crafty God
His Wings dismiss'd, but still retain'd his Rod:
That Sleep-procuring Wand wise Hermes took,
But made it seem to Sight a Shepherd's Hook.
