There Ceres, distant from the powers divine,
Sits deeply-musing in her hallow'd shrine.
The eager wish to view her daughter's face,
Again to fold her with a fond embrace,
Consumes her beauteous form — alternate roll
The tides of grief and vengeance in her soul.
She to the earth her genial power denies:
The corn unfruitful in its bosom lies:
The oxen draw the crooked plough in vain;
No waving verdure decks the blasted plain:
Pale famine spreads around — each mortal breast
Is sunk with woe, and by despair possest.
One common fate had now involv'd them all,
And the blest gods who in th' aerial hall
Of high Olympus reign, by man ador'd,
Their votaries' vows, and offerings had deplor'd:
But Jove revolving on the ills design'd
By Ceres; — to appease her wrathful mind,
Sends the bright goddess of the splendid bow,
Whose gold-bespangled wings with lustre glow —
Thro' yielding air with matchless speed she flew;
Eleusis' temple rose before her view.
There, while rich incense wafted fragrance round,
Clad in her sable veil the queen she found,
And thus began: The ruler of the sky
Calls thee to meet th' assembled gods on high —
Oh haste! with them celestial pleasures prove;
Nor fruitless be the words that come from Jove!

Iris in vain her soothing words addrest;
The goddess yields not to her kind request:
In vain, at his command who sways the skies,
Th' immortals sue — she hears and she denies:
Their proffer'd honors, and their gifts disdains,
And in her breast relentless vengeance reigns.
Firmly resolv'd where high Olympus towers,
She ne'er would mingle with th' ethereal powers,
Nor fruitful earth's productive force renew,
Till her lov'd daughter met her longing view.