“She said; and from his quiver straight he drew A dart that surely would the business do; She guides his hand; she makes her touch the test, And of a thousand arrows chose the best: No feather better poised, a sharper head None had, and sooner none, and surer sped. He bends his how, he draws it to his ear, Through Pluto’s heart it drives, and fixes there.”
Pluto surprises Proserpine while gathering towers in the plains of Enna, and transports her to the internal regions.
Near Enna’s walls a spacious lake is spread, Famed for the sweetly-singing swans it bred; Pergusa is its name: and never more Were heard, or sweeter on Cayster’s shore. Woods crown the lake; and Phoebus ne’er invades The tufted fences, or offends the shades: Fresh fragrant breezes fan the verdant bowers, And the moist ground smiles with enamell’d flowers: The cheerful birds their airy carols sing, And the whole year is one eternal spring.