Gods for themselves to makeBut they're more hideous ever
All-proudly,And ev'ry spoke whirls swiftly round,
Joyously would I devote all of the cargo to thee.Yet not trinkets and jewels alone is thy loved one procuring;
When the god will he obey'd,Follow fast his darts ere long.
And presently was dead.The hour her soul its farewell took,The boy was sad, with terror shook,
Will of all men be preferr'd;Who ne'er seems as if he knew
Till thou to action art roused, waked by the swift-rolling flood.Kindly be to the people, as when thou still wert a mortal,
OH, would I resembled