To rolling torrents raise the creeping rills. The queen and prince, as Love or Fortune guides, One common cavern in her bosom hides. Then first the trembling earth the signal gave, And flashing fires enlighten all the cave; Hell from below, and Juno from above, And howling nymphs, were conscious to their love. From this ill-omen'd hour, in time arose Debate and death, and all succeeding woes. The queen, whom sense of honour could not move, No longer made a secret of her love, But called it marriage, by that specious name To veil the crime, and sanctify the shame. The loud report through Libyan cities goes. Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows-- Swift from the first; and every moment brings New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings. Soon grows the pygmy to gigantic size; Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. Enraged against the gods, revengeful Earth Produced her, last of the Titanian birth-- Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste-- A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast. As many plumes as raise her lofty flight, So many piercing eyes enlarge her sight; Millions of opening mouths to Fame belong, } And every mouth is furnished with a tongue, } And round with listening ears the flying plague is hung. } She fills the peaceful universe with cries; No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes; By day, from lofty towers her head she shews, And spreads through trembling crowds disastrous news; With court informers haunts, and royal spies; Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies. Talk is her business; and her chief delight To tell of prodigies, and cause affright. She fills the people's ears with Dido's name, Who, "lost to honour and the sense of shame, Admits into her throne and nuptial bed A wandering guest, who from his country fled: Whole days with him she passes in delights, And wastes in luxury long winter nights, Forgetful of her fame, and royal trust, Dissolved in ease, abandoned to her lust." The goddess widely spreads the loud report, And flies at length to king Iarbas' court. When first possessed with this unwelcome news, Whom did he not of men and gods accuse? This prince, from ravished Garamantis born, A hundred temples did with spoils adorn, In Ammon's honour, his celestial sire; A hundred altars fed with wakeful fire; And, through his vast dominions, priests ordained, Whose watchful care these holy rites maintained. The gates and columns were with garlands crowned, And blood of victim beasts enriched the ground. He, when he heard a fugitive could move The Tyrian princess, who disdained his love, His breast with fury burned, his eyes with fire, Mad with despair, impatient with desire; Then on the sacred altars pouring wine, He thus with prayers implored his sire divine:--