BOOK VII.
253
Or skim the surface of the main
Nor let the billows touch her feet.
Where'er she moves, from house and land
The youths and ancient matrons throng,
And fixed in greedy wonder stand
Beholding as she speeds along:
How fair her scarf in purple dipped,
How clasps the gold her tresses' flow:
Her pastoral wand with steel is tipped,
And Lycian are her shafts and bow.
