Where Ætna's summits to the seas advance, Who marked the tracks of every bird that flew, And sure presages from their flying drew,) Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulysses' hand In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand. The giant, with a scornful grin, replied, Vain augur, thou hast falsely prophesied: Already Love his flaming brand has tost; Looking on two fair eyes, my sight I lost.-- Thus, warned in vain, with stalking pace he strode, And stamped the margin of the briny flood With heavy steps, and, weary, sought agen The cool retirement of his gloomy den. A promontory, sharpening by degrees, Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the seas; On either side, below, the water flows: This airy walk the giant-lover chose; Here on the midst he sate; his flocks, unled, Their shepherd followed, and securely fed. A pine so burly, and of length so vast, That sailing ships required it for a mast, He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide; But laid it by, his whistle while he tried. A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth, Scarce made a pipe proportioned to his mouth; Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around, And watery plains, the dreadful hiss resound. I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow, Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below. On Acis' bosom I my head reclined; And still preserve the poem in my mind. O lovely Galatea, whiter far Than falling snows, and rising lilies are; More flowery than the meads, as crystal bright, Erect as alders, and of equal height; More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin, Than orient shells, that on the shores are seen; Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade; Pleasing, as winter suns, or summer shade; More grateful to the sight than goodly plains, And softer to the touch than down of swans, Or curds new turned; and sweeter to the taste, Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste; More clear than ice, or running streams, that stray Through garden plots, but ah! more swift than they. Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke } Than bullocks, unreclaimed to bear the yoke, } And far more stubborn than the knotted oak; } Like sliding streams, impossible to hold, Like them fallacious, like their fountains cold; More warping than the willow, to decline My warm embrace; more brittle than the vine; Immoveable, and fixt in thy disdain; Rough, as these rocks, and of a harder grain; More violent than is the rising flood; And the praised peacock is not half so proud; Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are, And more outrageous than a mother bear; Deaf as the billows to the vows I make, And more revengeful than a trodden snake; In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind, Or driven tempests, or the driving wind.