O'er Lakes he whirls his flying Wheels, and comes
To the Palici breathing sulph'rous Fumes.
And thence to where the Bacchiads of Renown
Between unequal Heavens built their Town;
Where Arethusa, round th' imprison'd Sea,
Extends her crooked Coast to Cyanè;
The Nymph who gave the neighb'ring Lake a Name,
Of all Sicilian Nymphs the first in Fame,
She from the Waves advanc'd her beauteous Head,
The Goddess knew, and thus to Pluto said;
Farther thou shalt not with the Virgin run;
Ceres unwilling, canst thou be her Son?
The Maid shou'd be by sweet Perswasion won.
Force suits not with the Softness of the Fair;
For, if great Things with small I may compare,
Me Anapis once lov'd; a milder Course
He took, and won me by his Words, not Force.
Then, stretching out her Arms, she stopt his Way;
But he impatient of the shortest Stay,
Throws to his dreadful Steeds the slacken'd Rein,
And strikes his Iron Sceptre thro' the Main;
The Depths profound thro' yielding Waves he cleaves,
And to Hell's Center a free Passage leaves;
Down sinks his Chariot, and his Realms of Night
The God soon reaches with a rapid Flight.
Cyane dissolves to a Fountain.
But still does Cyanè the Rape bemoan,
And with the Goddess' Wrongs laments her own;
For the stoln Maid, and for her injur'd Spring,
Time to her Trouble no Relief can bring.
In her sad Heart a heavy Load she bears,
Till the dumb Sorrow turns her all to Tears.
Her mingling Waters with that Fountain pass,
Of which she late immortal Goddess was.
