But mine no more; he rowls along the Plains
With rapid Motion, and his Name retains.
The Story of Glaucus, and Scylla.
By Mr. Rowe.
Here ceas'd the Nymph; the fair Assembly broke,
The Sea-green Nereids to the Waves betook:
While Scylla, fearful of the wide-spread Main,
Swift to the safer Shore returns again.
There o'er the sandy Margin, unarray'd,
With printless Footsteps flies the bounding Maid;
Or in some winding Creek's secure Retreat
She baths her weary Limbs, and shuns the Noonday's Heat.
Her Glaucus saw, as o'er the Deep he rode,
New to the Seas, and late receiv'd a God.
He saw, and languish'd for the Virgin's Love,
With many an artful Blandishment he strove
Her Flight to hinder, and her Fears remove.
The more he sues, the more she wings her Flight,
And nimbly gains aneighb'ring Mountain's Height.
Steep shelving to the Margin of the Flood,
A neighb'ring Mountain bare, and woodless stood;
Here, by the Place secur'd, her Steps she stay'd,
And, trembling still, her Lover's Form survey'd.
His Shape, his Hue, her troubled Sense appall,
And dropping Locks that o'er his Shoulders fall;
She sees his Face Divine, and Manly Brow,
End in a Fish's wreathy Tail below:
She sees, and doubts within her anxious Mind,
Whether he comes of God, or Monster Kind.
