"Come from the coasts of the East with thy good fortune,
Come with thy flowering oats and thy foaming milk;
"And in the midst of the calves, dancing, with yellow locks,
All offspring shall adore thee, O Shepherdess of heaven!"
So sang the Aryans. But better pleased thee Hymettus,
Fresh with the twenty brooks whose banks smelt to heaven of thyme;
Better pleased thee on Hymettus the nimble-limbed, mortal huntsman,
Who with the buskined foot pressed the first dews of the morn.
The heavens bent down. A sweet blush tinged the forest and the hills
When thou, O Goddess, didst descend.
But thou descendedst not; rather did Cephalus, drawn by thy kiss,
Mount all alert through the air, fair as a beautiful god,—
Mount on the amorous winds and amid the sweet odors,
While all around were the nuptials of flowers and the marriage of streams.
Wet lies upon his neck the heavy tress of gold, and the golden quiver
Reaches above his white shoulder, held by the belt of vermilion.
O fragrant kisses of a goddess among the dews!
O ambrosia of love in the world's youth-time!
Dost thou also love, O Goddess? But ours is a wearied race;
Sad is thy face, O Aurora, when thou risest over our towers.