In longer time the tops of trees appear, Which mud on their dishonoured branches bear. At length the world was all restored to view, But desolate, and of a sickly hue: Nature beheld herself, and stood aghast, A dismal desert, and a silent waste. Which when Deucalion, with a piteous look, Beheld, he wept, and thus to Pyrrha spoke: Oh wife, oh sister, oh of all thy kind } The best and only creature left behind, } By kindred, love, and now by dangers joined; } Of multitudes, who breathed the common air, We two remain, a species in a pair: The rest the seas have swallowed; nor have we E'en of this wretched life a certainty. The clouds are still above; and, while I speak, A second deluge o'er our heads may break. Should I be snatched from hence, and thou remain, } Without relief, or partner of thy pain, } How could'st thou such a wretched life sustain? } Should I be left, and thou be lost, the sea, That buried her I loved, should bury me. Oh could our father his old arts inspire, And make me heir of his informing fire, That so I might abolished man retrieve, And perished people in new souls might live! But heaven is pleased, nor ought we to complain, That we, the examples of mankind, remain.-- He said; the careful couple join their tears, And then invoke the gods, with pious prayers. Thus in devotion having eased their grief, From sacred oracles they seek relief, And to Cephisus' brook their way pursue; The stream was troubled, but the ford they knew. With living waters in the fountain bred, } They sprinkle first their garments, and their head, } Then took the way which to the temple led. } The roofs were all defiled with moss and mire, The desert altars void of solemn fire. Before the gradual prostrate they adored, The pavement kissed, and thus the saint implored. O righteous Themis, if the powers above By prayers are bent to pity and to love; If human miseries can move their mind; If yet they can forgive, and yet be kind; Tell how we may restore, by second birth, Mankind, and people desolated earth. Then thus the gracious goddess, nodding, said; Depart, and with your vestments veil your head: And stooping lowly down, with loosened zones, Throw each behind your backs your mighty mother's bones. Amazed the pair, and mute with wonder, stand, Till Pyrrha first refused the dire command. Forbid it heaven, said she, that I should tear Those holy relics from the sepulchre. They pondered the mysterious words again, For some new sense; and long they sought in vain. At length Deucalion cleared his cloudy brow, And said; The dark ænigma will allow A meaning, which, if well I understand,