Then sad Carmenta, with her royal lord,
    Whom the fell sorceress clad, by arts abhorr’d,
    With plumes; but still the regal stamp impress’d
    On his imperial wings and lofty crest.—­
    Then she, whose tears the springing fount supplied;—­
    And she whose form above the rolling tide
    Hangs a portentous cliff—­the royal fair,
    Who wrote the dictates of her last despair
    To him whose ships had left the friendly strand. 
    With the keen steel in her determined hand.—­
    There, too, Pygmalion, with his new-made spouse,
    With many more, I spied, whose amorous vows
    And fates in never-dying song resound
    Where Aganippe laves the sacred ground:—­
    And, last of all, I saw the lovely maid
    Of Love unconscious, by an oath betray’d.

    BOYD.

PART III.

      Like one by wonder reft of speech, I stood
    Pond’ring the mournful scene in pensive mood,
    As one that waits advice.  My guide in haste
    Began:—­“You let the moments run to waste
    What objects hold you here?—­my doom you know;
    Compell’d to wander with the sons of woe!”—­
    “Oh, yet awhile afford your friendly aid! 
    You see my inmost soul;” submiss I said. 
    “The strong unsated wish you there can read;
    The restless cravings of my mind to feed
    With tidings of the dead.”—­In gentler tone
    He said, “Your longings in your looks are known;
    You wish to learn the names of those behind
    Who through the vale in long procession wind: 
    I grant your prayer, if fate allows a space,”
    He said, “their fortunes, as they come, to trace.—­
    See that majestic shade that moves along,
    And claims obeisance from the ghostly throng: 
    ’Tis Pompey; with the partner of his vows,
    Who mourns the fortunes of her slaughter’d spouse,
    By Egypt’s servile band.—­The next is he
    Whom Love’s tyrannic spell forbade to see
    The danger by his cruel consort plann’d;
    Till Fate surprised him by her treacherous hand.—­
    Let constancy and truth exalt the name
    Of her, the lovely candidate for fame,
    Who saved her spouse!—­Then Pyramus is seen,
    And Thisbe, through the shade, with pensive mien;—­
    Then Hero with Leander moves along,—­
    And great Ulysses, towering in the throng: 
    His visage wears the signs of anxious thought
    There sad Penelope laments her lot: 
    With trickling tears she seems to chide his stay,
    While fond Calypso charms her love-delay.—­
    Next he who braved in many a bloody fight. 
    For years on years, the whole collected might
    Of Rome, but sunk at length in Cupid’s snare
    The shameful victim of th’ Apulian fair!—­
    Then she, that, in a servile dress pursued,
    (Reft of her golden locks)