So said, so done. In droll procession now,
See ox and wingèd horse before the plow.
Unwilling steps the griffin, strains what little might
Of longing’s left in him, to take his fond old flight.
In vain: deliberately steps his neighbor,
And Phœbus’ high-souled steed must bend to his slow labor,
Till now, by long resistance spent his force,
His trembling limbs he can no longer trust,
And, bowed with shame, the noble, godlike horse
Falls to the ground, and rolls him in the dust.