“Tell me, my lord,” she said, “what fault unknown Thy once beloved Alcyone has done? Whither, ah! whither is thy kindness gone? Can Ceyx, then, sustain to leave his wife, And, unconcern’d, forsake the sweets of life? What can thy mind to this long journey move? Or need’st thou absence to renew thy love? Yet, if thou goest by land, though grief possess My soul, ev’n then my fears will be the less. But, ah! be warn’d to shun the watery way, The face is frightful of the stormy sea; For late I saw adrift disjointed planks, And empty tombs erected on the banks. Nor let false hopes to trust betray thy mind, Because my sire in caves constrains the wind, Can with a breath their clam’rous rage appease, They fear his whistle, and forsake the seas: Not so: for, once indulged, they sweep the main, Deaf to the call, or, hearing, hear in vain; But bent on mischief bear the waves before, And not content with seas, insult the shore, When ocean, air, and earth at once engage, And rooted forests fly before their rage: At once the clashing clouds to battle move,