[
Nereides
:
]
Eclogue
X.
Meroe
,
Otys
.
Meroe
.
Otys
,
begin
—
Since
he
is
gone
,
I'll
fetch
him
to
my
Arms
By
sacred
Spells
,
and
Force
of
Magick
Charms
,
Search
in
the
Slime
,
you'll
find
the
Cramp-fish
there
,
That
,
chilling
stops
whatever
swims
too
near
:
You'll
find
the
Fish
,
that
stays
the
labouring
Ship
,
Tho'
ruffling
Winds
drive
o'er
the
noisy
Deep
:
So
Phorbas
,
while
from
me
he
perjur'd
flies
,
Is
struck
benumb'd
,
and
fix'd
with
strange
Surprize
.
Look
down
auspicious
Moon
;
too
well
you
know
What
Love
will
force
,
and
potent
Charms
can
do
.
Take
here
,
and
drain
the
Sepia's
inky
Juice
,
Sprinkle
the
Sea
,
and
say
,
I
thus
infuse
Sad
gloomy
Thoughts
into
the
perjur'd
Swain
,
'Till
he
relenting
sigh
,
and
turn
to
love
again
.
Look
down
auspicious
Moon
;
too
well
you
know
What
Love
will
force
,
and
potent
Charms
can
do
.
Wreath
three
times
thrice
three
Reeds
,
and
sev'n
times
round
The
Chaplets
wave
(
strange
Vertues
have
been
found
.
In
Numbers
hid
;
and
Energy
divine
,
In
figur'd
Spells
,
and
the
mysterious
Trine
.
)
Look
down
auspicious
Moon
;
too
well
you
know
What
Love
will
force
,
and
potent
Charms
can
do
.
Take
here
the
rav'nous
Dog
,
and
wound
him
thro'
.
Then
cry
aloud
,
Phorbas
,
I
strike
for
you
;
So
may
his
Soul
be
pierc'd
with
fretting
Pain
,
'Till
he
relenting
sigh
,
and
turn
to
love
again
.
Look
down
auspicious
Moon
;
too
well
you
know
What
Love
will
force
,
and
potent
Charms
can
do
.
Go
fetch
dry
Weeds
;
They
lie
on
yonder
Isle
;
Then
raise
in
corner'd
Squares
the
artful
Pile
,
And
force
the
kindled
Heap
with
flaming
Oyl
:
So
may
his
tortur'd
Soul
in
Anguish
mourn
,
And
as
the
Pile
,
so
may
the
Triton
burn
.
Look
down
auspicious
Moon
;
too
well
you
know
What
Love
will
force
,
and
potent
Charms
can
do
.
I
hear
the
hollowing
Elves
,
and
Midnight
Shriek
Of
wandring
Ghosts
,
who
now
unbodied
seek
Their
lost
Abodes
,
and
restless
ever
roam
;
Affright
,
ye
Elves
,
and
bring
my
Phorbas
home
.
Look
down
auspicious
Moon
;
too
well
you
know
What
Love
will
force
,
and
potent
Charms
can
do
.
While
now
the
Flames
consume
the
sacred
Heap
,
Sing
Otys
;
Try
to
lull
my
Soul
asleep
;
Delightful
Sounds
,
when
form'd
by
studious
Art
Will
kind
Relief
a
while
,
and
slumbring
Ease
impart
;
They
quell
sad
Thoughts
,
and
raise
from
black
Despair
The
troubled
Mind
,
and
still
the
Voice
of
Care
.
Otys
.
Love
once
assay'd
to
swim
;
in
wanton
Play
He
labouring
strove
to
cut
the
liquid
way
:
He
prest
the
Waters
with
extended
Arms
,
And
as
he
mov'd
,
display'd
a
thousand
Charms
.
When
tir'd
with
Sport
,
he
would
at
length
have
flown
,
His
Wings
were
clog'd
with
Wet
,
and
useless
grown
,
Flutt'ring
he
strove
,
but
Moisture
prest
him
down
.
The
God
of
Love
is
now
to
Seas
confin'd
,
No
Triton
must
be
proud
,
or
Nymph
unkind
.
Mer.
Cease
,
Otys
;
see
,
the
Flame
already
dies
,
Choak'd
with
dark
smoaky
Fumes
,
that
circling
rise
.
Moisture
imbib'd
preserves
the
reeking
Heap
:
Sad
Sign
!
—
Nor
will
he
burn
,
nor
shall
I
cease
to
weep
.
In
vain
we
strive
:
No
artful
Spell
can
move
,
No
Charm
will
force
unwilling
Souls
to
love
.