can we rejoice to set Parthenius’ steep with nets nor wear the quiver; at large as he lists let the wild boar, raven and the lion roar savagely with none to say him nay. Thee, Taygetus’ crest, thee Maenalus’ height shall weep, their hunting laid aside. Long shalt thou be food for weeping on sorrowing Cynthus’ slopes. E’en my brother’s shrine at Delphi shall speak no more.” Meanwhile Proserpine is borne away in the winged car, her hair streaming before the wind, beating her arms in lamentation and calling in vain remonstrance to the clouds: “Why hast thou not hurled at me, father, bolts forged by the Cyclops’ hands? Was this thy will to deliver thy daughter to the cruel shades and drive her for ever from this world? Does love move thee not at all? Hast thou nothing of a father’s feeling? What ill deed of men has stirred such anger in thee? When Phlegra raged with war’s madness I bore no standard against the gods; ’twas through no strength of mine that ice-bound Ossa supported frozen Olympus. For attempt of what crime, for complicity with what guilt, am I thrust down in banishment to the bottomless pit of Hell? Happy girls whom other ravishers have stolen; they at least enjoy the general light of day, while I, together with my virginity, lose the air of heaven; stolen from me alike is innocence and daylight. Needs must I quit this world and be led a captive bride to serve Hell’s tyrant. Ye flowers that I loved in so evil an hour, oh, why did I scorn my mother’s warning? Too late did I detect the wiles of Venus. Mother, my mother, whether in the vales of Phrygian Ida the dread pipe sounds about thine ears with Lydian * * * * * Page 338