Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting,
Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining;
 Wearily move on thy horses--
 Let, then, thy chariot descend!

Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows,
Lovingly nods and smiles?--Thy heart must know her!
 Joyously speed on thy horses,--
 Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods!

Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping,
Into her arms he springs,--the reins takes Cupid,--
 Quietly stand the horses,
 Drinking the cooling flood.

Now from the heavens with gentle step descending,
Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed;
 Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,--
 Phoebus, the loving one, rests!