Attended by their handmaids fair:
Like birds of passage now they seem,
Who seek a softer clime and milder air.
Now round each other’s loins their arms they wreathe;
Like wild ducks now they dive the stream beneath:
Their snow-white arms they oft employ,
Like fishes’ fins, to stem the wave;
The wave transported foams with joy,
Such graceful-fashion’d limbs to lave.
But who of these in Loptur’s eyes