"Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow
Fabled of old?—— —— —— ——
* * * * * *
What art thou like? sometimes I see thee ride
A far bound galley on its perilous way,
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray—
Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep,
Timidly lighted by thy vestal torch,