XLVII.
The soft Flower-Spirit shuddered, looked on high,
And from his bolder brother would have fled;
But then the anger kindling in that eye
He could not bear. So to fair Egla's bed
Followed, and looked; then, shuddering all with dread,
To wondrous realms unknown to men he led;
Continuing long in sunset course his flight,
Until for flowery Sicily he bent;
Then, where Italia smiled upon the night,
Between their nearest shores chose midway his descent.
Not far from the scene of Vulcan's labors: yet the regions sought by these spirits must have been very much deeper.
