om mothers childless! Quit your rites;--quick haste
"And tear those garlands from your flowing hair."

Aside the garlands thrown, and incomplete,
The rites relinquish'd, what the Thebans could
They gave: their whispering prayers the matron dame
Address'd. With ire the angry goddess flam'd,
And thus on Cynthus' lofty top bespoke
Her double offspring:--"O, my children! see,
"Your parent, proud your parent to be call'd,--
"To no celestial yielding, save the queen
"Of Jove supreme. Lo! doubted is my claim
"To rites divine; and from the altars, burnt
"To me from endless ages, driven, I go;
"Save by my children succour'd. Nor this grief
"Alone me irks, for Niobe me mocks!--
"Her daring crime increasing, proud she sets
"Her offspring far 'bove you. Me too she spurns,--
"To her in number yielding; childless calls
"My bed, and proves the impious stock which gave
"Her tongue first utterance." More Latona felt
Prepar'd to utter; more beseechings bland
For her young offspring, when Apollo, cry'd:
"Enough, desist to plain;--delay is long
"Till vengeance." Dian' join'd him in his ire.
Swift gliding down the sky, and veil'd in clouds,
On Cadmus' roof they lighted. Wide was spread,
A level plain, by constant hoofs well beat,
The city's walls adjoining; crowding wheels,
And coursers' feet the rolling dust upturn'd.
Here of Amphion's offspring daily some
Mount their fleet steeds; their trappings gaily press
Of Tyrian dye: heavy with gold, the rens
They guide. 'Mid these Ismenos, primal born
Of Niobe, as round the circling course,
His well-train'd steed he sped, and strenuous curb'd
His foaming mouth,--loudly "Ah, me!" exclaim'd,
As through his bosom deep the dart was driv'n:
Dropp'd from his dying hands the slacken'd reins;
Slowly, and sidelong from his courser's back
He tumbled. Sipylus, gave uncheck'd scope
To his, when through the empty air he heard,
The rattling quiver sound: thus speeding clouds
Beheld, the guider of the ruling helm,
A threatening tempest fearing, looses wide
His every sail to catch the lightest breeze.
Loose flow'd his reins. Th' inevitable dart
The flowing reins quick follow'd. Quivering shook,
Fixt in his upper neck, the naked steel,
Far through his throat protruding. Prone he fell
O'er his high courser's head; his smoking gore,
The ground defiling. Hapless Phoedimas,
And Tantalus, his grandsire'