Here ceased the nymph; the fair assembly broke, The sea-green nereids to the waves betook; While Scylla, fearful of the wide-spread main, Swift to the safer shore returns again; There o’er the sandy margin, unarray’d, With printless footsteps, flies the bounding maid; Or in some winding creek’s secure retreat She bathes her weary limbs, and shuns the noonday heat. Her, Glaucus saw, as o’er the deep he rode, New to the seas, and late received a god. He saw, and languish’d for the virgin’s love. With many an artful blandishment he strove Her flight to hinder, and her fears remove. The more he sues, the more she wings her flight. And nimbly gains a neighbouring mountain’s height Steep shelving to the margin of the flood, A neighbouring mountain bare and woodless stood. Here, by the place secured, her steps she stay’d, And, trembling still, her lover’s form survey’d. His shape, his hue, her troubled sense appal, And drooping locks, that o’er his shoulders fall; She sees his face divine, and manly brow, End in a fish’s writhy tail below; She sees, and doubts within her anxious mind,