Cycnus beheld the nymphs transformed, allied
  To their dead brother on the mortal side,
  In friendship and affection nearer bound;
  He left the cities and the realms he owned,
  Through pathless fields and lonely shores to range,
  And woods, made thicker by the sisters’ change. 
  Whilst here, within the dismal gloom, alone,
  The melancholy monarch made his moan,
  His voice was lessened, as he tried to speak,
  And issued through a long extended neck;
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  His hair transforms to down, his fingers mee
  In skinny films, and shape his oary feet;
  From both his sides the wings and feathers break;
  And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak: 
  All Cycnus now into a swan was turned,
  Who, still remembering how his kinsman burned,
  To solitary pools and lakes retires,
  And loves the waters as opposed to fires. 
     Meanwhile Apollo, in a gloomy shade
  (The native lustre of his brows decayed)
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  Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight
  Of his own sunshine, and abhors the light: 
  The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rise,
  Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes,
  As when some dusky orb obstructs his ray,
  And sullies in a dim eclipse the day. 
     Now secretly with inward griefs he pined,
  Now warm resentments to his grief he joined,
  And now renounced his office to mankind. 
  ‘E’er since the birth of time,’ said he, ’I’ve borne
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  A long, ungrateful toil without return;
  Let now some other manage, if he dare,
  The fiery steeds, and mount the burning car;
  Or, if none else, let Jove his fortune try,
  And learn to lay his murdering thunder by;
  Then will he own, perhaps, but own too late,
  My son deserved not so severe a fate.’ 
     The gods stand round him, as he mourns, and pray
  He would resume the conduct of the day,
  Nor let the world be lost in endless night: 
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  Jove too himself descending from his height,
  Excuses what had happened, and entreats,
  Majestically mixing prayers and threats. 
  Prevailed upon, at length, again he took
  The harnessed steeds, that still with horror shook,
  And plies them with the lash, and whips them on,
  And, as he whips, upbraids them with his son.

  THE STORY OF CALISTO.

     The day was settled in its course; and Jove
  Walked the wide circuit of the heavens above,
  To search if any cracks or flaws were made;
  But all was safe:  the earth he then surveyed,
  And cast an eye on every different coast,
  And every land; but on Arcadia most. 
  Her fields he clothed, and cheered her blasted face
  With running fountains, and with springing grass. 
  No tracks of heaven’s destructive fire remain,
  The fields and woods revive, and nature smiles again.
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     But as the god walked to and fro the earth,