With what becoming fate in arms he died! Then called his brothers, sisters, sire, around, And her to whom his nuptial vows were bound; Perhaps his mother; a long sigh he drew, And, his voice failing, took his last adieu; For, as the flames augment, and as they stay At their full height, then languish to decay, They rise, and sink by fits; at last they soar In one bright blaze, and then descend no more: Just so his inward heats, at height, impair, Till the last burning breath shoots out the soul in air. Now lofty Calydon in ruins lies; } All ages, all degrees, unsluice their eyes; } And heaven and earth resound with murmurs, groans, and cries.} Matrons and maidens beat their breasts, and tear Their habits, and root up their scattered hair. The wretched father, father now no more, With sorrow sunk, lies prostrate on the floor; Deforms his hoary locks with dust obscene, And curses age, and loathes a life prolonged with pain. By steel her stubborn soul his mother freed, And punished on herself her impious deed. Had I an hundred tongues, a wit so large As could their hundred offices discharge; Had Phœbus all his Helicon bestowed, In all the streams inspiring all the god; Those tongues, that wit, those streams, that god in vain Would offer to describe his sisters' pain; They beat their breasts with many a bruising blow, Till they turn livid, and corrupt the snow. The corps they cherish, while the corps remains, And exercise and rub with fruitless pains; And when to funeral flames 'tis borne away, They kiss the bed on which the body lay; And when those funeral flames no longer burn, The dust composed within a pious urn, Even in that urn their brother they confess, And hug it in their arms, and to their bosoms press. His tomb is raised; then, stretched along the ground, Those living monuments his tomb surround; Even to his name, inscribed, their tears they pay, Till tears and kisses wear his name away. But Cynthia now had all her fury spent, Not with less ruin, than a race, content; Excepting Gorge, perished all the seed, And her whom heaven for Hercules decreed. Satiate at last, no longer she pursued The weeping sisters; but with wings endued, And horny beaks, and sent to flit in air, Who yearly round the tomb in feathered flocks repair. FOOTNOTES: [24] Amphialus. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. OUT OF THE EIGHTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.