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Ovid - Metamorphoses: Book The Fourteenth
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NOW Glaucus, with a lover`s haste, bounds o`er
                   The swelling waves, and seeks the Latian shore.
                   Messena, Rhegium, and the barren coast
                   Of flaming Aetna, to his sight are lost:
                   At length he gains the Tyrrhene seas, and views
                   The hills where baneful philters Circe brews;
                   Monsters, in various forms, around her press;
                   As thus the God salutes the sorceress.
        The        O Circe, be indulgent to my grief,
  Transformation   And give a love-sick deity relief.
     of Scylla     Too well the mighty pow`r of plants I know,
                   To those my figure, and new Fate I owe.
                   Against Messena, on th` Ausonian coast,
                   I Scylla view`d, and from that hour was lost.
                   In tend`rest sounds I su`d; but still the fair
                   Was deaf to vows, and pityless to pray`r.
                   If numbers can avail, exert their pow`r;
                   Or energy of plants, if plants have more.
                   I ask no cure; let but the virgin pine
                   With dying pangs, or agonies, like mine.
                     No longer Circe could her flame disguise,
                   But to the suppliant God marine, replies:
                     When maids are coy, have manlier aims in view;
                   Leave those that fly, but those that like, pursue.
                   If love can be by kind compliance won;
                   See, at your feet, the daughter of the Sun.
                     Sooner, said Glaucus, shall the ash remove
                   From mountains, and the swelling surges love;
                   Or humble sea-weed to the hills repair;
                   E`er I think any but my Scylla fair.
                     Strait Circe reddens with a guilty shame,
                   And vows revenge for her rejected flame.
                   Fierce liking oft a spight as fierce creates;
                   For love refus`d, without aversion, hates.
                   To hurt her hapless rival she proceeds;
                   And, by the fall of Scylla, Glaucus bleeds.
                     Some fascinating bev`rage now she brews;
                   Compos`d of deadly drugs, and baneful juice.
                   At Rhegium she arrives; the ocean braves,
                   And treads with unwet feet the boiling waves.
                   Upon the beach a winding bay there lies,
                   Shelter`d from seas, and shaded from the skies:
                   This station Scylla chose: a soft retreat
                   From chilling winds, and raging Cancer`s heat.
                   The vengeful sorc`ress visits this recess;
                   Her charm infuses, and infects the place.
                   Soon as the nymph wades in, her nether parts
                   Turn into dogs; then at her self she starts.
                   A ghastly horror in her eyes appears;
                   But yet she knows not, who it is she fears;
                   In vain she offers from her self to run,
                   And drags about her what she strives to shun.
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                               The End of the Fourteenth Book.
                             
                             
                Translated into English verse under the direction of
                Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
                William Congreve and other eminent hands
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