I

An age hath been when Earth was proud Of lustre too intense To be sustained; and Mortals bowed The front in self-defence. Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed, Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed While on the wing the Urchin played, Could fearlessly approach the shade? --Enough for one soft vernal day, 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 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!