Half maddened by the appearance of a beauty, of which hitherto he had been unconscious, he made every possible effort to grasp what appeared to be the guardian spirit of the water.
"Oft with his down-thrust arms he thought to fold,
About that neck that still deludes his hold,
He gets no kisses from those cozening lips,
His arms grasp nothing, from himself he slips;
He knows not what he views, and yet pursues
His desperate love, and burns for what he views."
Nothing could win the self-enamoured boy from his devoted passion; but bending over the lucid spring, he fed his eyes with the delusive shade which seemed to gaze on him from the depths. At last
"Streaming tears from his full eye-lids fell,