That she with rapture o’er the Hills pursu’d. }
“I know her well,” the infant Beauty cried:
“The Woodland Glory and the Garden’s pride;
I see the Colours o’er her form bespread,
The softned brown, faint green and dusky red,
And [glowing] eye of [a] bright azure blue 840
On either [angle] of the Wings I view.
Beneath, her shading puts all art to Shame;
Queen of her race she reigns, and Io is her Name.”
Sometimes the Rock within the Quarry gave