His rapid force no longer helps the Boar:
The Stag swims faster, than he ran before.
The Fowls, long beating on their Wings in vain,
Despair of Land, and drop into the Main.
Now Hills, and Vales no more distinction know;
And levell'd Nature lies oppress'd below.
The most of Mortals perish in the Flood:
The small remainder dies for want of Food.
A Mountain of stupendous height there stands
Betwixt th' Athenian and Bœotian Lands,
The Bound of fruitful Fields, while Fields they were,
But then a Field of Waters did appear:
Parnassus is its name; whose forky rise
Mounts through the Clouds, and mates the lofty Skies.
High on the Summit of this dubious Cliff,
Deucalion wafting, moor'd his little Skiff.
He with his Wife were only left behind
Of perish'd Man; they two were human Kind.
The Mountain Nymphs, and Themis they adore,
And from her Oracles relief implore.
The most upright of mortal Men was he;
The most sincere, and holy Woman, she.
When Jupiter, surveying Earth from high,
Beheld it in a Lake of Water lie,
That where so many Millions lately liv'd,
But two, the best of either Sex, surviv'd;
He loos'd the Northern Wind; fierce Boreas flies
To puff away the Clouds, and purge the Skies:
Serenely, while he blows, the Vapours driv'n,
Discover Heav'n to Earth, and Earth to Heav'n.
The billows fall, while Neptune lays his Mace
On the rough Sea, and smooths its furrow'd Face.
Already Triton, at his call appears
Above the Waves; a Tyrian Robe he wears;
And in his Hand a crooked Trumpet bears.
The