’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;