is surmounted by plumage of the swan: love was your 30
joint crime; for love you wear the cognizance of your
father’s form. For legend tells that Cycnus, all for grief
over his darling Phaethon, while in the poplar shade and
the leafage of the brotherless sisters he keeps singing and
consoling his sad passion by the Muses’ aid, drew over his 35
form the soft plumage of downy eld, mounting up from
earth and sending his voice before him to the stars. His
son, with a band of martial peers sailing at his side,
propels with his oars the enormous Centaur: the monster