“O, righteous Themis, if the powers above By prayers are bent to pity, and to love; If human miseries can move their mind; If yet they can forgive, and yet be kind; Tell how we may restore, by second birth, Mankind, and people desolated earth.” Then thus the gracious goddess, nodding, said: “Depart, and with your vestments veil your head; And stooping lowly down, with loosen’d zones, Throw each behind your backs your mighty mother’s bones.” Amazed the pair, and mute with wonder, stand, Till Pyrrha first refused the dire command. “Forbid it Heaven,” said she, “that I should tear Those holy relics from the sepulchre!” They ponder’d the mysterious words again, For some new sense; and long they sought in vain: At length Deucalion clear’d his cloudy brow, And said, “the dark enigma will allow A meaning, which, if well I understand, From sacrilege will free the god’s command: This Earth our mighty mother is, the stones In her capacious body are her bones: These we must cast behind.” With hope and fear