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to face and form and smoothing with rich balm her tresses. She has grown up my own sweet image. Behold even from here the lofty beauty of her brow and high-piled hair. Reckon how far she doth tower above the matrons of Rome: even so far as the Latonian maid out-tops the nymphs, or I myself stand out above the Nereids. This girl is worthy to rise with me from out the dark-blue waves; she could sit with me upon my chariot-shell. Nay, could she have climbed to the flaming mansions and entered this abode, even you, ye Loves, would be deceived. Although in my bounty I have given her the boon of wealth, her mind is a yet richer dower. Already I complain that the avaricious Seres are stripping their diminished groves, that Clymene’s fruit is failing, that the green Sisters weep not tears enough; that already too few fleeces are blushing with Sidonian dye, and too rarely freeze the crystals of the immemorial snows.^[1] For her Tagus and Hermus at my bidding run down their yellow sand—nor yet do they suffice for her arraying; for her Glaucus and Proteus and every Nereid go in search of Indian necklaces. If thou, Phoebus, hadst seen her on the fields of Thessaly, Daphne had wandered unafraid. If on Naxos’ shore she had been spied by Theseus’ couch, Euhan, too, would have fled from the Cretan maid and left her desolate. Nay, had not Juno appeased me by her endless plaint, heaven’s lord would for this maid have taken the disguise of horns or feathers, on her lap had Jove descended in true gold. But the youth whom thou