Look! The massy trunks are cased in the pure crystal. Each light spray, nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven, is studded with its trembling water-drops, that glimmer with an amethystine light.
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both! If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks!