Now round this orb, soft-floating on the air,
The beauteous goddess speeds her radiant car;
As in gay pomp the harnessed cygnets fly,
Their snow-white pinions glitter through the sky:
And like Triptolemus, whose bounteous hand
Strewed golden plenty o’er the fertile land,
Fair Cytherea, as she flew along,
O’er the vast lap of nature kisses flung;
Pleased from on high she viewed the enchanted ground,
And from her lips thrice fell a magic sound: