If you are still resolv'd her Loss to mourn.
And nothing less will serve than her Return;
Upon these Terms she may again be yours,
(Th' irrevocable Terms of Fate, not ours)
Of Stygian Food if she did never taste,
Hell's Bounds may then, and only then, be past.
The Transformation of Ascalaphus into an Owl.
The Goddess now, resolving to succeed,
Down to the gloomy Shades descends with Speed;
But adverse Fate had otherwise decreed.
For, long before, her giddy thoughtless Child
Had broke her Fast, and all her Projects spoil'd.
As in the Garden's shady Walks she stray'd,
A fair Pomegranate charm'd the simple Maid,
Hung in her Way, and tempting her to taste,
She pluck'd the Fruit, and took a short Repast.
Seven times, a Seed at once, she eat the Food;
The Fact Ascalaphus had only view'd;
Whom Acheron begot in Stygian Shades
On Orphnè, fam'd among Avernal Maids;
He saw what past, and by discov'ring all,
Detain'd the ravish'd Nymph in cruel Thrall.
But now a Queen, she with Resentment heard,
And chang'd the vile Informer to a Bird.
In Phlegeton's black Stream her Hand she dips,
Sprinkles his Head, and wets his babling Lips.
Soon on his Face, bedropt with Magick Dew,
A Change appear'd, and gawdy Feathers grew.
A crooked Beak the Place of Nose supplies,
Rounder his Head, and larger are his Eyes.
His Arms and Body waste, but are supply'd
With yellow Pinions flagging on each Side.
