If I, a bard of ebbing time,
And nurtured in a fickle clime,
May haunt this hornèd bay;[CM]
Whose amorous water multiplies
The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes;[CN]
And smooths her[249] liquid breast—to show
These swan-like specks of mountain snow,[CO]
White as the pair that slid along the plains
Of heaven, when Venus held the reins!
II