To weave into their vestments, and to stain
With tints pellucid, which they snatch from air
Or from the tide, when sunbeams wanton there.
Four flying dolphins to the car were reined,
Whose eagerness could scarcely be restrained,
So much they longed again to cleave the flood,
And lave their golden scales, if but in spray
Made by the chariot o’er the moonlit way.
They wait the spirit’s entrance, as they would
With that aerial burden lighter go.