How did she fear to lodge in woods alone, And haunt the fields and meadows once her own! How often would the deep-mouth’d dogs pursue, While from her hounds the frighted huntress flew! How did she fear her fellow brutes, and shun The shaggy bear, though now herself was one! How from the sight of rugged wolves retire, Although the grim Lycaon was her sire!

But now her son had fifteen summers told, Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold; When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey, He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay. She knew her son, and kept him in her sight, And fondly gazed. The boy was in a fright, And aim’d a pointed arrow at her breast, And would have slain his mother in the beast; But Jove forbade, and snatch’d them through the air In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fix’d them there; Where the new constellations nightly rise, And add a lustre to the northern skies.