“This Clytie knew, and knew she was undone, Whose soul was fixed, and doted on the Sun. She raged to think on her neglected charms, And Phoebus panting in another’s arms. With envious madness fired, she flies in haste, And tells the king his daughter was unchaste. The king, incensed to hear his honour stain’d, No more the father nor the man retain’d. In vain she stretch’d her arms, and turn’d her eyes To her loved god, the enlightener of the skies. In vain she own’d it was a crime, yet still It was a crime not acted by her will. The brutal sire stood deaf to every prayer, And deep in earth entomb’d alive the fair. What Phoebus could do was by Phoebus done, Full on her grave with pointed beams he shone; To pointed beams the gaping earth gave way; Had the nymph eyes, her eyes had seen the day; But lifeless now, yet lovely still, she lay. Not more the god wept when the world was fired, And in the wreck his blooming boy expired. The vital flame he strives to light again, And warm the frozen blood in every vein; But since resistless fates denied that power,