The Bath of the Nymphs

From the Euxine sheltered is a vale where grows
Above the spring a leaning laurel tree,
Wherefrom a pendent Nymph in frolic glee
Touches the gelid pool with timorous toes.

Her sisters, challenged by the shells where flows
The gushing wave they sport with joyously,
Plunge deep, and from the foam a hip gleams free,
And from bright locks, a bust or bosom's rose.

The great, dark wood is filled with mirth divine.
Sudden, two eyes within the shadow shine.
The Satyr 'tis! ... His laugh benumbs their play;

And forth they dart. So, at a crow's ill cry,
Cayster's snowy swans in wild array
Above the river all distracted fly.