His former Thought, an impious Thought he found,
And both the Hero, and the God were own'd.
He saw, already one in Heav'n was plac'd,
And one with more, than mortal Triumphs grac'd.
The Victor Perseus with the Gorgon-head,
O'er Libyan Sands his airy Journey sped.
The gory Drops distill'd, as swift he flew,
And from each drop envenom'd Serpents grew.
The Mischiefs brooded on the barren Plains,
And still th' unhappy Fruitfulness remains.
Atlas transform'd to a Mountain.
Thence Perseus, like a Cloud, by Storms was driv'n,
Thro' all th' Expanse beneath the Cope of Heav'n.
The jarring Winds unable to controul,
He saw the Southern, and the Northern Pole:
And Eastward thrice, and Westward thrice was whirl'd,
And from the Skies survey'd the nether World.
But when grey Ev'ning show'd the Verge of Night,
He fear'd in Darkness to pursue his Flight.
He pois'd his Pinions, and forgot to soar.
And sinking, clos'd them on th' Hesperian Shore:
Then beg'd to rest, 'till Lucifer begun
To wake the Morn, the Morn to wake the Sun.
Here Atlas reign'd, of more than human Size,
And in his Kingdom the World's Limit lies.
Here Titan bids his weary'd Coursers sleep,
And cools the burning Axle in the Deep.
The mighty Monarch, uncontroul'd, alone,
His Sceptre sways: no neighb'ring States are known.
A thousand Flocks on shady Mountains fed,
A thousand Herds o'er grassy Plains were spread.
Here wond'rous Trees their shining Stores unfold,
Their shining Stores too wond'rous to be told.
Their Leafs, their Branches, and their Apples, Gold.
