As the eagle swoops from on high,
Making an opening in the cloudy space,
Upon the asp which, in the heat, licks
Its recovered youthfulness;
So the swan flew
Down here to arrive
Upon the pool where Leda
Was accustomed to play on the bank.

When fair day had lit
The sky over the fields,
She led her comapnions to play
On the usual bank
And fascinated by flowers
She bore in her hand a basket
Painted in many colours
And painted many ways.

On one end of the basket was shown 
Amidst a hundred golden clouds
A Dawn which covered
The sky with colourful flowers;
Her waving hair flying,
Blown by the breath from the nostrils
Of the nearby horses drawing
The sun from the waters of the sea.

As it makes its journey in the heavens
On its curved, twisting route,
It turns entirely around
The handle [of the basket] in a similar way;
The sinews on the horses swell
And their undaunted power
Tires under the labours
Of the arduous climb.

The sea is painted below,
The water ripples so well on it
That a fisherman would not [stake his life]1
That it was not natural;
And the sun sinking at evening
Into the waves beside, goes in
With head lowered, letting itself fall
Right to the bottom of its great belly.

On the brow of a rock
A shepherd watches a wolf
Which hastens to get near
The cowardly race which he guards;
But he cares not about that
So much he is amused by a snail
That slowly climbs to the top
Of a lily, at the bottom of the meadow.

A frolicking satyr,
A thief, as he frolics steals
A basket and milk
From another frolicking satyr;
The one [turns after him, utterly livid]2,
The other defends his spoils,
The milk gets tipped over them
And [soils]3 their breasts and chins.