aspice bis senos laetantis agmine cycnos, aetheria quos lapsa plaga Iovis ales aperto turbabat caelo; nunc terras ordine longo aut capere aut captas iam despectare videntur.
Look at those twelve swans in exultant line, which Joves bird, swooping from the expanse of heaven, was harrying in the open air; now in long array they seem either to be settling in their places or already to be gazing down on the places where others have settled.