As Lucifer excels the meanest star, Or as the full-orb’d Phoebe Lucifer, So much did Herse all the rest outvie, And gave a grace to the solemnity. Hermes was fired as in the clouds he hung; So the cold bullet, that with fury slung From Balearic engines, mounts on high, Glows in the whirl, and burns along the sky. At length he pitch’d upon the ground, and show’d The form divine, the features of a god. He knew their virtue o’er a female heart, And yet he strives to better them by art. He hangs his mantle loose, and sets to show The golden edging on the seam below; Adjusts his flowing curls, and in his hand, Waves with an air the sleep-procuring wand; The glittering sandals to his feet applies, And to each heel the well-trimm’d pinion ties.