Ovid

metamorphoses


Of bodies chang'd to various forms, I sing: 
Ye Gods, from whom these miracles did spring, 
Inspire my numbers with coelestial heat; 'Till I my long laborious work compleat: 
And add perpetual tenour to my rhimes, 
Deduc'd from Nature's birth, to Caesar's times. Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball, 
And Heav'n's high canopy, that covers all, 
One was the face of Nature; if a face: Rather a rude and indigested mass: 
A lifeless lump, unfashion'd, and unfram'd, 
Of jarring seeds; and justly Chaos nam'd. 
No sun was lighted up, the world to view; 
No moon did yet her blunted horns renew: Nor yet was Earth suspended in the sky, 
Nor pois'd, did on her own foundations lye: 
Nor seas about the shores their arms had thrown; 
But earth, and air, and water, were in one. 
Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable, 
And water's dark abyss unnavigable. No certain form on any was imprest; 
All were confus'd, and each disturb'd the rest. For hot and cold were in one body fixt; 
And soft with hard, and light with heavy mixt.