Then proſtrate falls, and begs with ardent Eyes
Soon to obtain, and long poſſeſs the Prize:
The Pow'rs gave Ear, and granted half his Pray'r,
The rest, the Winds diſpers'd in empty Air.
But now ſecure the painted Veſſel glides,
The Sun-beams trembling on the floating Tydes,
While melting Muſick ſteals upon the Sky,
And ſoften'd Sounds along the Waters die.
Smooth flow the Waves, the Zephyrs gently play
Belinda ſmil'd, and all the World was gay.
All but the Sylph——With careful Thoughts oppreſt,
Th' impending Woe ſate heavy on his Breaſt.
He ſummons ſtrait his Denizens of Air;
The lucid Squadrons round the Sails repair:
Soft o'er the Shrouds Aerial Whiſpers breathe,
That ſeem'd but Zephyrs to the Train beneath.
Some to the Sun their Inſect-Wings unfold,
Waft on the Breeze, or sink in Clouds of Gold.