Now borne along by his azure steeds
The sun looks forth from Oeta's ridge;
With whose light suffused, the clustering grapes
In the vineyards to Theban Bacchus dear
Flush rosy red. The waning moon135
Fades out of sight, to return again.
Hard Toil awakens, at whose knock
The doors of men are opened wide,
And daily cares resumed.
The shepherd sends his flock afield,