The god, disturbed with this new glare of light Cast sudden on his face, unsealed his sight, And raised his tardy head, which sunk again, And, sinking on his bosom, knocked his chin; At length shook off himself, and asked the dame (And asking yawned,) for what intent she came? To whom the goddess thus:--O sacred Rest, Sweet pleasing Sleep, of all the powers the best! O peace of mind, repairer of decay, } Whose balms renew the limbs to labours of the day, } Care shuns thy soft approach, and sullen flies away! } Adorn a dream, expressing human form, The shape of him who suffered in the storm, And send it flitting to the Trachin court, The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report: Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand, Who begs a vain relief at Juno's hand.-- She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep, Unable to support the fumes of sleep; But fled, returning by the way she went, And swerved along her bow with swift ascent. The god, uneasy till he slept again, Resolved at once to rid himself of pain; And, though against his custom, called aloud, Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd; Morpheus, of all his numerous train, expressed The shape of man, and imitated best; The walk, the words, the gesture could supply, The habit mimic, and the mien bely; Plays well, but all his action is confined; Extending not beyond our human kind. Another birds, and beasts, and dragons, apes, And dreadful images, and monster shapes: This dæmon, Icelos, in heaven's high hall The gods have named; but men Phobeter call: A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of soul; Earth, fruits, and flowers, he represents in dreams, And solid rocks unmoved, and running streams. These three to kings and chiefs their scenes display, The rest before the ignoble commons play: Of these the chosen Morpheus is dispatched; Which done, the lazy monarch overwatched, Down from his propping elbow drops his head, Dissolved in sleep, and shrinks within his bed. Darkling the dæmon glides, for flight prepared, So soft that scarce his fanning wings are heard. To Trachin, swift as thought, the flitting shade Through air his momentary journey made: Then lays aside the steerage of his wings, Forsakes his proper form, assumes the king's; And pale as death, despoiled of his array, } Into the queen's apartment takes his way, } And stands before the bed at dawn of day: } Unmoved his eyes, and wet his beard appears, } And shedding vain, but seeming real tears; } The briny water dropping from his hairs; } Then staring on her, with a ghastly look And hollow voice, he thus the Queen bespoke.