She fumed the temples with an odorous flame, } And oft before the sacred altars came, } To pray for him, who was an empty name; } All powers implored, but far above the rest, To Juno she her pious vows addressed, Her much-loved lord from perils to protect, And safe o'er seas his voyage to direct; Then prayed that she might still possess his heart, And no pretending rival share a part. This last petition heard, of all her prayer; The rest, dispersed by winds, were lost in air. But she, the goddess of the nuptial bed, Tired with her vain devotions for the dead, Resolved the tainted hand should be repelled, Which incense offered, and her altar held: Then Iris thus bespoke,--Thou faithful maid, By whom the queen's commands are well conveyed, Haste to the house of Sleep, and bid the god, Who rules the night by visions with a nod, Prepare a dream, in figure and in form Resembling him who perished in the storm: This form before Alcyone present, To make her certain of the sad event.-- Endued with robes of various hue she flies, And flying draws an arch, a segment of the skies; Then leaves her bending bow, and from the steep Descends to search the silent house of Sleep. Near the Cimmerians, in his dark abode, Deep in a cavern, dwells the drowsy god; Whose gloomy mansion nor the rising sun, Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon; But lazy vapours round the region fly, Perpetual twilight, and a doubtful sky; No crowing cock does there his wings display, Nor with his horny bill provoke the day; Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese, Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace; Nor beast of nature, nor the tame, are nigh, Nor trees with tempests rocked, nor human cry; But safe repose, without an air of breath, Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death. An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow, Arising upwards from the rock below, The palace moats, and o'er the pebbles creeps, And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps; Around its entry nodding poppies grow, And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow; Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains, And passing sheds it on the silent plains: No door there was the unguarded house to keep, On creaking hinges turned, to break his sleep. But in the gloomy court was raised a bed, Stuffed with black plumes, and on an ebon sted; Black was the covering too, where lay the god, And slept supine, his limbs displayed abroad; About his head fantastic visions fly, Which various images of things supply, And mock their forms; the leaves on trees not more, Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the shore. The virgin, entering bright, indulged the day To the brown cave, and brushed the dreams away;