Metamorphoses: Book The Fourteenth

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.
.
  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