“What Phœbus could do was by Phœbus done.
Full on her grave with pointed beams he shone.
To pointed beams the gaping earth gave way;
Had the nymph eyes, her eyes had seen the day;
But lifeless now, yet lovely, still she lay.
Not more the god wept when the world was fired,
And in the wreck his blooming boy expired;
The vital flame he strives to light again,
And warm the frozen blood in every vein.
But since resistless fates denied that power,