“And now our skin grows smooth, our shape upright, Our arms stretch up, our cloven feet unite; With tears our weeping general we embrace, Hang on his neck, and melt upon his face. Twelve silver moons in Circe’s court we stay, While there they waste the unwilling hours away. ’Twas here I spied a youth in Parian stone, His head a pecker bore, the cause unknown To passengers. A nymph of Circe’s train The mystery thus attempted to explain:
Picus, king of Latium, becomes the husband of Canens, whom he tenderly loves—Shortly after the nuptials, the youth, while indulging in the pleasures of the chase, is met by Circe, who becomes deeply enamoured of him—Picus meets the advances of the goddess with coldness; and she, in revenge, transforms him into a woodpecker, and his companions into wild beasts; while Canens, in despair, wastes away, and is changed into a voice.