60
Him through the sedges afar the sad-eyed maiden of Minos,
Likest a Bacchant-girl stone-carven, (O her sorrow!)
'Spies, a-tossing the while on sorest billows of love-care.
Now no more on her blood-hued hair fine fillets retains she,
No more now light veil conceals her bosom erst hidden,
65
Now no more smooth zone contains her milky-hued paplets:
All gear dropping adown from every part of her person
Thrown, lie fronting her feet to the briny wavelets a sea-toy.