“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 could 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 bowers, When Proserpine went forth to gather flowers? Since Pluto in his car 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: The earth and sea might witness to your care: The gods were easy, and return’d your prayer: 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 music of your flatt’ring tongues, Should quite be lost (as courteous fates ordain), Your voice and virgin beauty still remain.”

Jove, some amends for Ceres’ loss to make, Yet unwilling Pluto should the joy partake, Gives them 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 changed; that sullen mind Which made ev’n hell uneasy, now is kind; Her voice refines; her mien more sweet appears; Her forehead free from frowns, her eyes from tears. As when, with golden light, the conqu’ring day Through dusky exhalations clears a way; Ceres her daughter’s loss 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.

The god Alpheus, becoming enamoured of Arethusa, a follower of Diana, pursues her for a considerable distance, when the nymph, ready to sink under fatigue, implores the aid of her protectress, who changes her into a fountain, with whose streams the river Alpheus mingles.

Still were the purling waters, and the maid From the smooth surface raised her beauteous head, Wipes off the drops that from her tresses ran, And thus to tell Alpheus’ loves began.

“In Elis first I breathed the living air; The chase was all my pleasure, all my care: None loved like me the forest to explore, To pitch the toils, and drive the bristled boar. Of fair, though masculine, I had the name, But gladly would to that have quitted claim: It less my pride than indignation raised, To hear the beauty I neglected praised; Such compliments I loathed, such charms as these I scorn’d, and thought it infamy to please.

“Once, I remember, in the summer’s heat, Tired with the chase, I sought a cool retreat, And walking on, a silent current found, Which gently glided o’er the gravelly ground; The crystal water was so smooth, so clear, My eye distinguish’d every pebble there; So soft its motion, that I scarce perceived The running stream, or what I saw believed: The hoary willow and the poplar made, Along the shelving bank, a grateful shade. In the cool rivulet my feet I dipp’d, Then waded to the knee, and then I stripp’d: My robe I careless on an osier threw, That near the place commodiously grew; Nor long upon the border naked stood, But plunged with speed into the silver flood: My arms a thousand ways I moved, and tried To quicken, if I could, the lazy tide, Where, while I play’d my swimming gambols o’er, I heard a murm’ring voice, and frighted sprung to shore. ‘Oh! whither, Arethusa, dost thou fly?’ From the brook’s bottom did Alpheus cry. Again I heard him, in a hollow tone: