And swiftly then he swoops, I ween,
Down on the steeps of Cragus green
Into the pleasant plain,
Where Xanthus rolls his yellow stream,
And Phœbus lights with glorious gleam
The Patarean plain.
Here he alights. His heavenly steed,
With instant eye out-stripping speed
Scorning the earthly loam,
Wheels eastward far with vans sonorous,