See those twelve Swans, a Flock triumphant, fly,
Whom lately, shooting from th’ ethereal Sky,525
Th’ imperial Bird of Jove dispers’d around,
Some hov’ing o’er, some settling on the Ground.
As these returning clap their sounding Wings,
Ride round the Skies, and sport in airy Rings;
So, have your Friends and Ships possest the Strand,530
Or with full bellying Sails approach the Land.
Haste to the Palace then, without Delay,
And, as this Path directs, pursue your Way.
She said, and turning round, her Neck she show’d,
That with celestial Charms divinely glow’d.535
Her waving Locks immortal Odours shed,
And breath’d ambrosial Scents around her Head.
Her sweeping Robe trail’d pompous as she trod,
And her majestic Port confess’d the God.
Soon as he knows her thro’ the coy Disguise,540
He thus pursues his Mother as she flies.
