Wonder we that the highest star above
Sprang forth to thy embrace,
O Leda! wonder we, when daring Love
Turn'd thy averted face?

Smiles he had seen in Hebe, such as won
Him of the poplar crown.
Jove, until then half-envious of his son,
Then threw his scepter down.

Loose hung his eagle's wings; on either side
A dove thrust in her head:
Eagle had lost his fierceness, Jove his pride . .
And Leda what? . . her dread.