’Tis hard to judge if Clymene were moved More by his prayer, whom she so dearly loved, Or more with fury fired, to find her name Traduced, and made the sport of common fame. She stretch’d her arms to heaven, and fix’d her eyes On that fair planet that adorns the skies. “Now by those beams,” said she, “whose holy fires Consume my breast, and kindle my desires; By him who sees us both, and cheers our sight, By him, the public minister of light, I swear that sun begot thee; if I lie, Let him his cheerful influence deny; Let him no more this perjured creature see, And shine on all the world but only me. If still you doubt your mother’s innocence, His eastern mansion is not far from hence; With little pains you to his levee go, And from himself your parentage may know.” With joy the ambitious youth his mother heard, And, eager for his journey, soon prepared. He longs the world beneath him to survey, To guide the chariot, and to give the day. From Meroe’s burning sands he bends his course, Nor less in India feels his father’s force;

The sun’s bright palace, on high columns raised, With burnish’d gold and flaming jewels blazed; The folding gates diffused a silver light, And with a milder gleam refresh’d the sight; Of polish’d ivory was the covering wrought; The matter vied not with the sculptor’s thought; For in the portal was display’d on high (The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky; À waving sea the inferior earth embraced, And gods and goddesses the waters graced. Aegeon here a mighty whale bestrode; Triton, and Proteus (the deceiving god), With Doris here were carved, and all her train: Some loosely swimming in the figured main, While some on rocks their dropping hair divide, And some on fishes through the waters glide: Though various features did the sisters grace, A sister’s likeness was in every face. On earth a different landscape courts the eyes: Men, towns, and beasts, in distant prospects rise, And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities. O’er all, the heaven’s refulgent image shines: On either gate were six engraven signs.

Here Phaeton, still gaining on the ascent, To his suspected father’s palace went, Till, pressing forward through the bright abode, He saw at distance the illustrious god: He saw at distance, or the dazzling light Had flash’d too strongly on his aching sight.

The god sits high, exalted on a throne Of blazing gems, with purple garments on: The Hours in order ranged on either hand, And Days, and Months, and Years, and Ages, stand. Here Spring appears, with flowery chaplets bound; Here Summer, in her wheaten garland crown’d; Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear, And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.

Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne; That eye which looks on all was fixed on one: He saw the boy’s confusion in his face, Surprised at all the wonders of the place, And cries aloud, “What wants my son? for know My son thou art, and I must call thee so.”

“Light of the world,” the trembling youth replies, “Illustrious parent! since you don’t despise The parent’s name, some certain token give, That I may Clymene’s proud boast believe, Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.”

The tender sire was touch’d with what he said, And flung the blaze of glories from his head, And bade the youth advance. “My son,” said he, “Come to thy father’s arms! for Clymene Has told thee true: a parent’s name I own, And deem thee worthy to be call’d my son. As a sure proof, make some request, and I, Whate’er it be, with that request comply: By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night, And roll impervious to my piercing sight.”