Himself new bathed in the ocean's foam;750
Or when, the darkness put to flight,
He heralds the dawn—bright Lucifer.
And thou of the thyrsus, Indian Bacchus,
With the flowing locks of endless youth,
With thine ivy-clad spear the tigers driving,755
And thy turban set on thy hornéd head:
Not thus will thy glorious locks outshine
The unadorned hair of Hippolytus.
And admire not thy beauty over much,