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 marvelous 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. There never was a more playful creature made than this very
Pegasus. So there he frisked, in a way that it delights me to think
about, fluttering his great wings as lightly as ever did a linnet, and
running little races, half on earth and half in air, and which I know
not whether to call a flight or a gallop. When a creature is
perfectly able to fly, he sometimes chooses to run, just for the
pastime of the thing; and so did Pegasus, although it cost him some
little trouble to keep his hoofs so near the ground. Bellerophon,
meanwhile, holding the child's hand, peeped forth from the shrubbery,
and thought that never was any sight so beautiful as this, nor ever a
horse's eyes so wild and spirited as those of Pegasus. It seemed a sin
to think of bridling him and riding on his back.

Once or twice, Pegasus stopped, and snuffed the air, pricking up his
ears, tossing his head, and turning it on all sides, as if he partly
suspected some mischief or other. Seeing nothing, however, and hearing
no sound, he soon began his antics again.

At length--not that he was weary, but only idle and luxurious--Pegasus
folded his wings, and lay down on the soft green turf. But, being too
full of aerial life to remain quiet for many moments together, he soon
rolled over