——— The God who mounts the winged winds, Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds, That high through fields of air his flight sustain, O’er the wide earth, and o’er the boundless main. […] Troy’s turrets totter on the rocking plain; And the toss’d navies beat the heaving main. […] Safe from the storm, the Stromphades I gain, Encircled by the vast Ionian main, Where dwelt Cœlene, with her Harpy train. […] Along the sides of the cavern, are ranged between forty and fifty statues, each, twelve, or fifteen feet in height; of exact symmetry; but though round and prominent, yet not one of them is detached from the main rock. […] And that dark power, whose ample shield Before the sun’s bright face is held; Screening from flame, the liquid main, Each shadowy hill and grassy plain.