remaining consolation will soon disappear. It was possible, that Phœbus himself could have reversed his chariot, and changed his course to an opposite direction, and thus have buried this cruel crime in darkness, such has never been known, before—the darkness of a night, issuing from the Palace of the glorious Orient, at an opposite hour, would be awful: however, we shall all see, all these crimes will one day be known to thee.
The Chorus observing the going down of the Sun, become alarmed, fearing lest the whole fabric of the universe, dissolved into fragments, should lapse into eternal chaos.
Oh, where, oh thou parent of the Earth and chief of the Gods above, at whose rising, all the luminous accessories of opaque night disappear, where dost thou direct thy way. Why hidest thou a day in the middle of Olympus? Why, oh Phœbus! dost thou avert thy face? Not as yet does Vesperus, the herald of approaching night summon the stars to thy dark celestial vaults! Not as yet surely does thy declining course on the Hesperian track (the far West) induce thee to unyoke the steeds of thy chariot, which have finished their diurnal duties efficiently! Not as yet has the third trumpet sounded the signal of day verging onwards towards night (third part of the day). The ploughman with his oxen not yet tired out, is wonder-struck at his supper-time arriving with such unlooked-for suddenness! What has driven thee away, from thy æthereal path? What has diverted the horses of Phœbus from their regular rounds? We wonder whether the giants, their prisons in the realms of Pluto being burst open, are warring against the Gods again? Or if Tityus with his inside worn out by the rapacious vultures is impotently renewing any of his ancient animosities? Whether Typhœus has released himself from the mountain which has been pressing him down? Or is there a road being built up high for Phlegræan Giants to renew their attempts on the Gods? Or is it Thracian Ossa being pressed down on Thessalian Pelion? The harmonious system of the universe seems upside down! There never will be again the regular rising and setting of Phœbus. Aurora, the harbinger of dewy morn, is at her wits' end with this disturbed system of illumination of her kingdom, accustomed as she is to hand over the horses of the Sun to Phœbus himself, for