Classic Poem

Before the spacious Front, a Herd we find
Of Beasts, the fiercest of the savage Kind.
Our trembling Steps with Blandishments they meet,
And fawn, unlike their Species, at our Feet
Within, upon a sumptuous Throne of State
On golden Columns rais'd th'Enchantress sate.
Rich was her Robe, and amiable her Mein,
Her Aspect awful, and she look'd a Queen
Her Maids not mind the Loom, nor houshold Care,
" Nor wage in Needle-work a Scythian War.
But cull in Canisters disastrous Flow'rs,
" And Plants from haunted Heaths, and fairy Bow'rs,
" With brazen Sickles reap'd at Planetary Hours.
Each Dose the Goddess weighs with watchful Eye;
So nice her Art in impious Pharmacy!
Entring she greets us with a gracious Look,
And Airs, that future Amity bespoke.
Her ready Nymphs serve up a rich Repast;
The Bowl she dashes first, then gives to taste
Quick, to our own undoing, we comply;
Her Pow'r we prove, and shew the Sorcery.
Soon, in a Length of Face, our Head extends;
Our Chine stiff Bristles bears, and forward bends:
A Breadth of Brawn new burnishes our Neck;
Anon we grunt, as we begin to speak
Alone Eurylochus refus'd to taste,
Nor to a Beast obscene the Man debas'd.
Hither Ulysses hastes, (so Fates command)
And bears the pow'rful Moly in his Hand;
Unsheaths his Scymitar, assaults the Dame,
Preserves his Species, and remains the same.
The Nuptial Rite this Outrage strait attends;
The Dow'r desir'd is his transfigur'd Friends.
The Incantation backward she repeats,
Inverts her Rod, and what she did, defeats.
And now our Skin grows smooth, our Shape upright;
Our Arms stretch up, our cloven Feet unite.
With Tears our weeping Gen'ral we embrace;
Hang on his Neck, and melt upon his Face
Twelve Silver Moons in Circe 's Court we stay,
Whilst there they waste th'unwilling Hours away.
'Twas here I spy'd a Youth in Parian Stone;
His Head a Pecker bore; the Cause unknown
To Passengers. A Nymph of Circe 's Train
The Myst'ry thus attempted to explain.