(So “in the midst of life we are in death;”
And “all is vanity” the preacher saith.)—
Apollo stay’d, and slept upon the field,
And nursed his love as mothers nurse a child.
Now, Leo’s nights were short, so day came on;
Aurora[141] blush’d to see the beauteous moon:
But she[142]—the virtuous angel of the night,
Succumb’d; and thus withdrew her silvery light.
Prodigious Sol then soared into the main;
And with him soared Apollo’s tuneful strain,—