Among the Springs which flow from Ida's Head
His lowing Herds the young Anchises fed:
Whose Godlike Form and Face the smiling Queen
Beheld, and lov'd to Madness soon as seen.
To Cyprus straight the wounded Goddess flies,
Where Paphian Temples in her Honour rise,
And Altars smoke with daily Sacrifice.
Soon as arriv'd, she to her Shrine repair'd,
Where entring quick, the shining Gates she barr'd.
The ready Graces wait, her Baths prepare,
And oint with fragrant Oils her flowing Hair;
Her flowing Hair around her Shoulders spreads,
And all adown Ambrosial Odour sheds.
Last, in transparent Robes her Limbs they fold,
Enrich'd with Ornaments of purest Gold,
And thus attir'd, her Chariot she ascends,
And Cyprus left, her Flight to Troy she bends.

On Ida she alights, then seeks the Seat
Which lov'd Anchises chose for his Retreat:
And ever as she walk'd thro' Lawn or Wood,
Promiscuous Herds of Beasts admiring stood.
Some humbly follow, while some fawning meet,
And lick the Ground, and crouch beneath her Feet.
Dogs, Lions, Wolves and Bears their Eyes unite,
And the swift Panther stops to gaze with fix'd Delight.
For, ev'ry Glance she gives, soft Fire imparts,
Enkindling sweet Desire in Savage Hearts.
Inflam'd with Love, all single out their Mates,
And to their shady Dens each Pair retreats.