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 walk 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 Orphne, 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. His nails grow crooked, and are turn'd to claws, And lazily along his heavy wings he draws. Ill-omen'd in his form, the unlucky fowl, Abhorr'd by men, and call'd a scrieching owl. The Daughters of Achelous transform'd to Sirens Justly this punishment was due to him, And less had been too little for his crime; But, o ye nymphs that from the flood descend, What fault of yours the Gods cou'd so offend, With wings and claws your beauteous forms to spoil, Yet save your maiden face, and winning smile? Were you not with her in Pergusa's bow'rs, When Proserpine went forth to gather flow'rs? Since Pluto in his carr the Goddess caught, Have you not for her in each climate sought? And when on land you long had search'd in vain, You wish'd for wings to cross the pathless main; That Earth and Sea might witness to your care: The Gods were easy, and return'd your pray'r; With golden wing o'er foamy waves you fled, And to the sun your plumy glories spread. But, lest the soft enchantment of your songs, And the sweet musick of your flat'ring tongues Shou'd quite be lost (as courteous fates ordain), Your voice and virgin beauty still remain. Jove some amends for Ceres lost to make, Yet willing Pluto shou'd the joy partake, Gives 'em of Proserpine an equal share, Who, claim'd by both, with both divides the year. The Goddess now in either empire sways, Six moons in Hell, and six with Ceres stays. Her peevish temper's chang'd; that sullen mind, Which made ev'n Hell uneasy, now is kind, Her voice refines, her mein more sweet appears, Her forehead free from frowns, her eyes from tears, As when, with golden light, the conqu'ring day Thro' dusky exhalations clears a way. Ceres her daughter's rape no longer mourn'd, But back to Arethusa's spring return'd; And sitting on the margin, bid her tell From whence she came, and why a sacred well.