Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/124

 

Scoopt in a mountain's side lies a vast cave,
Where by the driving blast the frequent wave
Dashing splits back to many a winding bay, 495
Recess to suff'rers on the watry way:
Within, screen'd by a rock's o'er-arching height,
The God retires: here, shaded from the light,
The Nymph in ambush seats her son, and shrouds
Herself at distance in surrounding clouds. 500

On India's sons now stream'd fierce Sirius' blaze,
And half the Globe had felt Sol's sultry rays;
Parcht was the grass; to mud the rivers turn'd
In thirsty channels to the bottom burn'd:
'Twas then the Prophet, rising from the wave, 505
Sought the cool shelter of his custom'd cave;
Scattering the briny dew the wat'ry throng
About him gambol'd, as he past along:
The Phocæ, basking in the sunny ray,
Stretcht diverse on the strand reposing lay: 510
He, (like some herdman of the hills, who calls
Back from the field his cattle to their stalls,
The night-star twinkling, while the lambs around
Bleat, and the wolves grow keener at the sound;)
The midmost on a rock, his scaly train 515
Tells, not unnoted by the watchful swain:

Scarce