Between its grassy banks, the Po

Glides on, where grieving woods respond

To the mourning of the sisters sad

Of Phaëthon; or to the shores

Of Sicily transport me. There,

Another Siren, let me mourn190

The woeful fate of Thessaly.

Or bear me to the Thracian woods,

Where, underneath Ismarian shade,

The Daulian bird bewails her son.