The Transformation of Lychas into a Rock

The Hero said; and with the Torture stung,
Furious o'er OEte 's lofty Hills he sprung.
Stuck with the Shaft, thus scours the Tyger round,
And seeks the flying Author of his Wound
Now might you see him trembling, now he vents
His anguish'd Soul in Groans and loud Laments;
He strives to tear the clinging Vest in vain,
And with up rooted Forests strows the Plain;
Now kindling into Rage, his Hands he rears,
And to his kindred Gods directs his Pray'rs
When Lychas , lo, he spies; who trembling flew,
And in a hollow Rock conceal'd from View,
Had shun'd his Wrath. Now Grief renew'd his Pain,
His Madness chaff'd, and thus he raves again.
Lychas , to thee alone my Fate I owe,
Who bore the Gift, the Cause of all my Woe.
The Youth all pale, with shiv'ring Fear was stung,
And vain Excuses faulter'd on his Tongue.
Alcides snatch'd him, as with suppliant Face
He strove to clasp his Knees, and beg for Grace:
He toss'd him o'er his Head with airy Course,
And hurl'd with more than with an Engine's Force;
Far o'er th' Eubaean Main aloof he flies,
And hardens by Degrees amid the Skies.
So show'ry Drops, when chilly Tempests blow,
Thicken at first, then whiten into Snow,
In Balls congeal'd the rolling Fleeces bound
In solid Hail result upon the Ground.
Thus, whirl'd with nervous Force thro' distant Air,
The Purple Tide forsook his Veins, with Fear;
All Moisture left his Limbs. Transform'd to Stone,
In ancient Days the craggy Flint was known;
Still in th' Eubaean Waves his Front he rears,
Still the small Rock in human Form appears,
And still the Name of hapless Lychas bears.
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Ovid
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