Chapter_56

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The goddess now, resolving to succeed,

Down to the gloomy shades descends with speed;

But adverse fate had otherwise decreed;

For, long before, her giddy, thoughtless child

Had broke her fast, and all her projects spoil’d.

As in the garden’s shady walk she stray’d,

A fair pomegranate charm’d the simple maid,

Hung in her way, and tempting her to taste,

She pluck’d the fruit, and took a short repast.

Seven times, a seed at once, she eat the food:

The fact Ascalaphus had only view’d,

Whom Acheron begot, in Stygian shades,

On Orphne, famed among Avernal maids;

He saw what pass’d, and, by discovering all,

Detain’d the ravish’d nymph in cruel thrall.

But now a queen, she with resentment heard,

And changed the vile informer to a bird.

In Phlegethon’s black stream her hand she dips,

Sprinkles his head, and wets his babbling lips.

Soon on his face, bedropp’d with magic dew,

A change appear’d, and gaudy feathers grew;

A crooked beak the place of nose supplies;

Rounder his head, and larger are his eyes;

His arms and body waste, but are supplied

With yellow pinions, flagging on each side;

His nails grow crooked, and are turn’d to claws,

And lazily along his heavy wings he draws:

Ill-omen’d in his form, the unlucky fowl,

Abhorr’d by men, and call’d a screeching owl.