Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/275

At this a sullen Grief her Voice supprest,
While silent Passions struggle in her Breast.
⁠Now, at her Lap arriv'd, the flatt'ring Boy
Salutes his Parent with a smiling Joy:
About her Neck his little Arms are thrown,
And he accosts her in a pratling Tone.
Then her tempestuous Anger was allay'd,
And in its full Career her Vengeance stay'd;
While tender Thoughts, in spite of Passion, rise,
And melting Tears disarm her threat'ning Eyes.
But when she found the Mother's easy Heart,
Too fondly swerving from th' intended Part;
Her injur'd Sister's Face again she view'd:
And, as by turns surveying Both she stood,
While this fond Boy (she said) can thus express
The moving Accents of his fond Address;
Why stands my Sister of her Tongue bereft,
Forlorn, and sad, in speechless Silence left?
O Procné, see the Fortune of your House!
Such is your Fate, when match'd to such a Spouse!
Conjugal Duty, if observ'd to him,
Would change from Virtue, and become a Crime;
For all Respect to Tereus must debase
The noble Blood of Great Pandion's Race.
⁠Strait at these Words, with big Resentment fill'd,
Furious her Look, she flew, and seiz'd her Child;
Like a fell Tigress of the savage Kind,
That drags the tender Suckling of the Hind
Thro' India's gloomy Groves, where Ganges laves
The shady Scene, and rouls his streamy Waves.
⁠Now to a close Apartment they were come,
Far off retir'd within the spacious Dome;
When Procné, on revengeful Mischief bent,
Home to his Heart a piercing Poinyard sent.
Itys, with rueful Cries, but all too late,
Holds out his Hands, and deprecates his Fate;