Flood with reed-grown[369] slime banks, till I be past Thy waters stay: I to my mistress haste. Thou hast no bridge, nor boat with ropes to throw, That may transport me, without oars to row. Thee I have passed, and knew thy stream none such, When thy wave's brim did scarce my ankles touch. With snow thawed from the next hill now thou gushest,[370] And in thy foul deep waters thick thou rushest. What helps my haste? what to have ta'en small rest? What day and night to travel in her quest? 10 If standing here I can by no means get My foot upon the further bank to set. Now wish I those wings noble Perseus had, Bearing the head with dreadful adders[371] clad; Now wish the chariot, whence corn fields were found, First to be thrown upon the untilled ground: I speak old poet's wonderful inventions, Ne'er was, nor [e'er] shall be, what my verse mentions. Rather, thou large bank-overflowing river, Slide in thy bounds; so shalt thou run for ever. 20 Trust me, land-stream, thou shalt no envy lack, If I a lover be by thee held back. Great floods ought to assist young men in love, Great floods the force of it do often prove. In mid Bithynia,[372] 'tis said, Inachus Grew pale, and, in cold fords, hot lecherous. Troy had not yet been ten years' siege out stander, When nymph NeÊra rapt thy looks, Scamander. What, not Alpheus in strange lands to run, The Arcadian virgin's constant love hath won? 30 And Creusa unto Xanthus first affied, They say Peneus near Phthia's town did hide. What should I name Asop,[373] that Thebe loved, Thebe who mother of five daughters proved, If, Achelˆus, I ask where thy horns stand, Thou say'st, broke with Alcides' angry hand. Not Calydon, nor ∆tolia did please; One Deianira was more worth than these. Rich Nile by seven mouths to the vast sea flowing, Who so well keeps his water's head from knowing, 40 Is by Evadne thought to take such flame, As his deep whirlpools could not quench the same. Dry Enipeus, Tyro to embrace, Fly back his stream[374] charged; the stream charged, gave place. Nor pass I thee, who hollow rocks down tumbling, In Tibur's field with watery foam art rumbling. Whom Ilia pleased, though in her looks grief revelled, Her cheeks were scratched, her goodly hairs dishevelled. She, wailing Mar's sin and her uncle's crime, Strayed barefoot through sole places[375] on a time. 50 Her, from his swift waves, the bold flood perceived, And from the mid ford his hoarse voice upheaved, Saying, "Why sadly tread'st my banks upon, Ilia sprung from IdÊan Laomedon? Where's thy attire? why wanderest here alone? To stay thy tresses white veil hast thou none? Why weep'st and spoil'st with tears thy watery eyes?