And bring, perhaps, their Thracian Consorts Home.

Her Words their Hearts with manly Rage inspire,

And spread from Breast to Breast the vengeful Fire.

Not greater Shouts the Plains of Scythia rend,

When the fierce Amazons to Fight descend,

When their stern Patron summons from afar

His Virgin-Troops, and frees th’ imprison’d War.

Nor Discord, rising from a various Choice,

Disturbs their Councils with tumultuous Voice;

But equal was their Will, the fame their Haste

To desolate, and lay each Mansion waste,

To strike the Youth, and Sire with Age opprest

To tear the wailing Infant from the Breast,

And subject to their unexcepting Rage

Each Stage of Life, and each Degree of Age.

There grew a Forest near Minerva’s Fane,

Whose gloomy Boughs obscure the subject Plain,

A steepy Mount o’erhangs the nether Glade,

And Sol is loft between the double Shade.

Here they repair, and at the Rites obscene

Attest Bellona, and the Stygian Queen.

From Acheron their Course the Furies bend,

And, uninvok’d, the Sacrifice attend.

The Paphian Goddess turns on ev’ry Side

Her Steps unknown, and fires each youthful Bride.

Spontaneous then fell Caropeia brought

Her Son (his Sex, alas, his only Fault)

A Throng of armed Priestesses surrounds,

The Victim falls beneath unnumber’d Wounds:

The Life-Blood issuing from a thousand Strokes,

With horrid Imprecations each invokes:

The recent Shade from its dark Prison springs,

And haunts the Mother with encircling Wings.

Struck at the Sight, my Limbs with Horror shook,

The Blood at once my ghastly Cheeks forsook.

Thus fares the Hind, by rav’ning Wolves pursu’d,

As first she seeks the Covert of the Wood;

Much she distrusts a safe Retreat in Flight,

But more her Strength and Fortune in the Fight.

Now, now she seems to feel her seizing Foes,

And hears with Dread their Jaws eluded close.

Mean while, their Anchors dropt, the Ships restore

The Lemnian Warriors to their native Shore:

With Emulation on the Deck they stand,

Contending, who should first attain the Strand.

Far happier! had they press’d the Thracian Plain,

Or sunk beneath the Fury of the Main,

The lofty Fanes are hid in ambient Smoke,

And votive Victims grace the fatal Stroke:

But the black Flame and unsound Entrails prove

Th’ unfav’ring Purpose of the Gods above.

Late and unwilling to his watry Bed

The Sun retir’d, and veil’d his radiant Head,

Detain’d by Jove; nor ever did the Day

So long before survive his letting Ray.

The Stars awhile withheld their gleamy Light,

And sicken’d to behold the fatal Night.

While other Isles enjoy their usual Share

Of Light, and glitter with the distant Glare,

O’er guilty Lemnos gath’ring Clouds arise,

And low-hung Vapours choak the lab’ring Skies.

Lemnos, in circling Darkness lost, alone

Was to the sorrowing Mariner unknown.

Now from the finish’d Rites they bend their Way,

To drown in Wine the Labours of the Day;