Withdrew in sorrow; one by one they fled,—
For all conceiv’d their benefactor dead!
Then rose a cloudling, circular in shape,
Of matchless beauty, tinted like the grape;
Its outer edge, fring’d round with silvery foil,
Bent gently downwards, archlike, to the soil;
So that an hemisphere of cloud conceal’d
The god’s huge body from the open field.
To Bacchus’ prayers[120] the heavenly orbs attend,
And with precision to the earth descend: