"There laved the maid her limbs; her damsels too Plunged in the river: swift she skim’d the wave With oaring hand, and with experienced skill Rear’d high her head unwetted by the tide; Laid her bathed bosom level on the flood, And with alternate feet behind her threw The waters. Nor escaped she, while she swam, Jove’s all-discerning eye; but, suddenly Appearing from on high, he roll’d around His boundless orb of vision: opposite Stood Love; and on the father, gazing thus, Th’ incomprehensible archer drew in air His bow: the flower-wreathed weapon glanced a light As the stretch’d bow-string quiver’d: bent the bow, Th’ instinctive arrow shrill’d a Bacchic sound: Jove was the mark; and, mighty as he was, To that poor urchin Love bow’d down his neck. The arrow, gliding like a falling star, Flew, whispering nuptial sounds, and pierced the heart Of Jove, by subtle indirect approach, Grazing the bending thigh with wavering wound, Aslant; prognostic of the birth to come. Then Jove his mutable and rolling eye, Moist-swimming with necessity of love, Bent on the damsel: like a scourge he felt The cestus of her loveliness. He look’d On Semele, and panted in alarm, Lest he should recognize beside those banks Another fair Europa, and again His heart throb wild for a Phœnician maid. For Semele was moulded in the form Of elegance; the beauty of her race Shone in her forehead. Jupiter now changed His wily form; and, by the virgin smit, Soar’d like an eagle o’er Asopus’ flood; And bore the image of the eagle’s eye With vision keenly radiant; and he left The fields of ether and approach’d the banks, Measuring with fixed glance that naked shape Veil’d by her flowing tresses. Nor the wish Was his to gaze at distance, but to gaze O’er all the nigh-appearing nymph’s bare limbs Of glowing white; nor deem’d he that the scope So keen, so vast, of that orbicular eye, Roll’d in immensity, and with a glance Girding the world, sufficed to gaze on one Of unyoked nature, a mere mortal maid. The waters, dark from depth, transparent blush’d With crimsoning lustre of her rosy limbs; The river-mead became an amorous scene, Whose waters in voluptuous dalliance flash’d Graces like lightnings from their dimpling waves: The Naiad, wreathed with nodding sedges, look’d, And half-exclaiming held her tranced breath."