Vainly tossing its horns and goring the wind to no purpose.Thence with abounding praise returned he, guiding his footsteps,While a fine drawn thread checked steps in wander abounding,Lest when issuing forth of the winding maze labyrinthineBaffled become his track by inobservable error.But for what cause should I, from early subject digressing,Tell of the daughter who the face of her sire unseeing,Eke her sister's embrace nor less her mother's endearments,Who in despair bewept her hapless child that so gladlyChose before every and each the lively wooing of Theseus?Or how borne by the ship to the yeasting shore-line of DiaCame she? or how when bound her eyes in bondage of slumberLeft her that chosen mate with mind unmindful departing?Often (they tell) with heart inflamed by fiery furyPoured she shrilling of shrieks from deepest depths of her bosom;Now she would sadly scale the broken faces of mountains,Whence she might overglance the boundless boiling of billows,Then she would rush to bestem the salt-plain's quivering waveletAnd from her ankles bare the dainty garment uplifting,