The more have ye delighted, and the joy
I never grudged thee; tho’ there was not one
In all my company of sea-born nymphs,
Who did not daily pray me, with white arms
Raised in the blue, to let her guard my son.
And for his birthright he might well have taken
The service of their sportive train, and lived
On some fair desert isle away from men
Like a young god in worship and gay love.
But since he is mortal, for his mortal mate