Thence Perseus, like a cloud, by storms was driven,
Through all the expanse beneath the cope of heaven.
The jarring winds unable to control,
He saw the southern and the northern pole;
And eastward thrice, and westward thrice, was whirl’d,
And from the skies survey’d the nether world.
But when gray evening show’d the verge of night,
He fear’d in darkness to pursue his flight.
He poised his pinions, and forgot to soar,
And, sinking, closed them on the Hesperian shore
Then begg’d to rest, till Lucifer begun
To wake the morn, the morn to wake the sun.
Here Atlas reign’d, of more than human size,
And in his kingdom the world’s limit lies.
Here Titan bids his wearied coursers sleep,
And cools the burning axle in the deep:
The mighty monarch, uncontroll’d, alone
His sceptre sways: no neighb’ring states are known:
A thousand flocks on shady mountains fed,
A thousand herds o’er grassy plains were spread:
Here wondrous trees their shining stores unfold,
Their shining stores too wondrous to be told,
Their leaves, their branches, and their apples, gold.
Then Perseus the gigantic prince address’d,
Humbly implored a hospitable rest:
“If bold exploits thy admiration fire,”
He said, “I fancy mine thou wilt admire:
Or, if the glory of a race can move,
Not mean my glory, for I spring from Jove.”
At this confession Atlas ghastly stared,
Mindful of what an oracle declared,
That the dark womb of time conceal’d a day,
Which should, disclosed, the bloomy gold betray;
All should at once be ravish’d from his eyes,
And Jove’s own progeny enjoy the prize.
For this, the fruit he loftily immured,
And a fierce dragon the strait pass secured:
For this, all strangers he forbade to land,
And drove them from the inhospitable strand.
To Perseus then: “Fly, quickly fly, this coast,
Nor falsely dare thy acts and race to boast.”
In vain the hero for one night entreats,
Threat’ning he storms, and next adds force to threats.
By strength not Perseus could himself defend;
For who in strength with Atlas could contend?
“But since short rest to me thou wilt not give,
A gift of endless rest from me receive.”
He said, and backward turn’d, no more conceal’d
The present, and Medusa’s head reveal’d.
Soon the high Atlas a high mountain stood;
His locks and beard became a leafy wood;
His hands and shoulders into ridges went;
The summit-head still crown’d the steep ascent;
His bones a solid, rocky hardness gain’d,
He, thus immensely grown (as Fate ordain’d),
The stars, the heavens, and all the gods, sustain’d.