"The victor Perseus, with the Gorgon head,
O'er Lybian sands his airy journey sped.
The gory drops distilled as swift he flew,
And from each drop envenomed serpents grew.
The mischiefs brooded on the barren plains,
And still the unhappy fruitfulness remains.
Thence Perseus, like a cloud, by storms was driv'n,
Thro' all the expanse beneath the cope of heaven.
The jarring winds unable to control,
He saw the southern and the northern pole: