Now Jove no longer could her sufferings bear, But call’d in haste his airy messenger, The son of Maia, with severe decree, To kill the keeper, and to set her free. With all his harness soon the god was sped, His flying hat was fasten’d on his head; Wings on his heels were hung, and in his hand He holds the virtue of the snaky wand. The liquid air his moving pinions wound, And, in the moment, shoot him on the ground. Before he came in sight, the crafty god His wings dismiss’d, but still retain’d his rod. That sleep-procuring wand wise Hermes took, But made it seem to sight a shepherd’s hook: With this he did a herd of goats control, Which by the way he met, and slyly stole: Clad like a country swain, he piped and sung, And, playing, drove his jolly troop along.