'Father of gods and mortals! whose right arm With reins eternal guides the moving heavens, Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well pleased 450 I seek to finish thy divine decree. With frequent steps I visit yonder seat Of man, thy offspring; from the tender seeds Of justice and of wisdom, to evolve The latent honours of his generous frame; Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lot From earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks, The temple of thy glory. But not me, Not my directing voice he oft requires, Or hears delighted: this enchanting maid, 460 The associate thou hast given me, her alone He loves, O Father! absent, her he craves; And but for her glad presence ever join'd, Rejoices not in mine: that all my hopes This thy benignant purpose to fulfil, I deem uncertain: and my daily cares Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee Still further aided in the work divine.' She ceased; a voice more awful thus replied:-- 'O thou, in whom for ever I delight, 470 Fairer than all the inhabitants of Heaven, Best image of thy Author! far from thee Be disappointment, or distaste, or blame; Who soon or late shalt every work fulfil, And no resistance find. If man refuse To hearken to thy dictates; or, allured By meaner joys, to any other power Transfer the honours due to thee alone; That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste, That power in whom delighteth ne'er behold. 480 Go then, once more, and happy be thy toil; Go then! but let not this thy smiling friend Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold! With thee the son of Nemesis I send; The fiend abhorr'd! whose vengeance takes account Of sacred order's violated laws. See where he calls thee, burning to be gone, Pierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath On yon devoted head. But thou, my child, Control his cruel frenzy, and protect 490 Thy tender charge; that when despair shall grasp His agonising bosom, he may learn, Then he may learn to love the gracious hand Alone sufficient in the hour of ill, To save his feeble spirit; then confess Thy genuine honours, O excelling fair! When all the plagues that wait the deadly will Of this avenging demon, all the storms Of night infernal, serve but to display The energy of thy superior charms 500 With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage, And shining clearer in the horrid gloom.'