Upon a time, before the faery broodsDrove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,Before King Oberon's bright diadem,Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,Frighted away the Dryads and the FaunsFrom rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns,The ever-smitten Hermes empty leftHis golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft:From high Olympus had he stolen light,On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sightOf his great summoner, and made retreatInto a forest on the shores of Crete.For somewhere in that sacred island dweltA nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;At whose white feet the languid Tritons pouredPearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,And in those meads where sometime she might haunt,Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,