o ill-starred maid, what frenzy caught thy soulthe daughters too of Proetus filled the fieldswith their feigned lowings, yet no one of themof such unhallowed union e'er was fainas with a beast to mate, though many a timeon her smooth forehead she had sought for horns,and for her neck had feared the galling plough.O ill-starred maid! thou roamest now the hills,while on soft hyacinths he, his snowy sidereposing, under some dark ilex now