The parent's name, some certain token give, That I may Clymene's proud boast believe, Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.' The tender sire was touched with what he said. And flung the blaze of glories from his head, _50 And bid the youth advance: 'My son,' said he, 'Come to thy father's arms! for Clymene Has told thee true; a parent's name I own, And deem thee worthy to be called my son. As a sure proof, make some request, and I, Whate'er it be, with that request comply; By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night, And roll impervious to my piercing sight.' The youth transported, asks, without delay, To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day. _60 The god repented of the oath he took, For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook; 'My son,' says he, 'some other proof require, Rash was my promise, rash is thy desire. I'd fain deny this wish which thou hast made, Or, what I can't deny, would fain dissuade. Too vast and hazardous the task appears, Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years. Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly Beyond the province of mortality: _70 There is not one of all the gods that dares (However skilled in other great affairs) To mount the burning axle-tree, but I; Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky, That hurls the three-forked thunder from above, Dares try his strength; yet who so strong as Jove? The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain: And when the middle firmament they gain, If downward from the heavens my head I bow, And see the earth and ocean hang below; _80 Even I am seized with horror and affright, And my own heart misgives me at the sight. A mighty downfal steeps the evening stage, And steady reins must curb the horses' rage. Tethys herself has feared to see me driven Down headlong from the precipice of heaven. Besides, consider what impetuous force Turns stars and planets in a different course: I steer against their motions; nor am I 89 Born back by all the current of the sky. _90 But how could you resist the orbs that roll In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole? But you perhaps may hope for pleasing woods, And stately domes, and cities filled with gods; While through a thousand snares your progress lies, Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies: For, should you hit the doubtful way aright, The Bull with stooping horns stands opposite; Next him the bright Hæmonian Bow is strung; And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung: _100 The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent, And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent. Nor would you find it easy to compose The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils flows The scorching fire, that in their entrails glows. Even I their headstrong fury scarce restrain, When they grow warm and restive to the rein. Let not my son a fatal gift require, But, oh! in time recall your rash desire;