Now Philomela, scarce received on board, And in the royal gilded bark secured, Beheld the dashes of the bending oar, The ruffled sea, and the receding shore, When straight (his joy impatient of disguise) “We’ve gain’d our point,” the rough barbarian cries; “Now I possess the dear, the blissful hour, And ev’ry wish subjected to my power.” As when the bold rapacious bird of Jove, With crooked talons, stooping from above, Has snatch’d, and carried to his lofty nest A captive hare, with cruel gripes oppress’d, Secure, with fix’d and unrelenting eyes, He sits, and views the helpless, trembling prize.