After they had expected him so long, he was coming to quench his
thirst with the water of Pirene.
Nearer and nearer came the aerial wonder, flying in great circles, as
you may have seen a dove when about to alight. Downward came Pegasus, in
those wide, sweeping circles, which grew narrower, and narrower still,
as he gradually approached the earth. The nigher the view of him, the
more beautiful he was, and the more marvellous the sweep of his silvery
wings. At last, with so light a pressure as hardly to bend the grass
about the fountain, or imprint a hoof tramp in the sand of its margin,
he alighted, and, stooping his wild head, began to drink. He drew in the
water, with long and pleasant sighs, and tranquil pauses of enjoyment;
and then another draught, and another, and another. For, nowhere in the
world, or up among the clouds, did Pegasus love any water as he loved
this of Pirene. And when his thirst was slaked, he cropped a few of the
honey blossoms of the clover, delicately tasting them, but not caring to
make a hearty meal, because the herbage just beneath the clouds, on the
lofty sides of Mount Helicon, suited his palate better than this
ordinary grass.
After thus drinking to his heart's content, and in his dainty fashion
condescending to take a little food, the winged horse began to caper to
and fro, and dance as it were, out of mere idleness and sport.
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