A train of youths in vain desired her bed, By sea nymphs loved, to nymphs of seas she fled; The maid to these, with female pride, display’d Their baffled courtship, and their love betray’d.

When Galatea thus bespoke the fair, (But first she sigh’d,) while Scylla comb’d her hair, “You, lovely maid, a generous race pursues, Whom safe you may (as now you do) refuse; To me, though powerful in a numerous train Of sisters, sprung from gods, who rule the main, My native seas could scarce a refuge prove, To shun the fury of the cyclop’s love.” Tears choked her utterance here; the pitying maid With marble fingers wiped them off, and said; “My dearest goddess, let thy Scylla know (For I am faithful) whence these sorrows flow.” The maid’s entreaties o’er the nymph prevail, Who thus to Scylla tells the mournful tale.