Pan, at her presence, felt his cloud-robe turn
Fire-red, like vapors round the sinking sun;
Not thus for dreamy Dian did he burn;
And how a kiss might from her lips be won,
He of his horn-clad brain assistance sought,
Which, full of schemes, struck out a subtle thought.
XIV.
For swift as light, from some far river’s meads,
A hornet flying drove his venomed sting
Into the foreheads of her glossy steeds;