It has been with many an endeavour to trace, in the mythologies of various nations, a resemblance to the more holy histories of our own faith; and they assert that, in many of the fables with which we are familiar, are to be traced the types or symbols of part of that revelation which is the ground-work of our own belief. But this is, at best, so vague and shadowy, that its inculcators get lost in their own inventions, and their followers scarcely comprehend the assertions they are called on implicitly to believe. […] Irritated at the ridicule they poured upon him, he added to this gift, the restriction, that she should never believe her own prophecies. […] His orders were obeyed, but the doors of the prison in which Bacchus was confined, opened of their own accord. […] They who have seen her, own they ne’er did trace, More moving features, in a sweeter face: Yet above all, her length of hair they own, In golden ringlets waved, and graceful shone.