Bellerophon’s heart began to throb.  He gazed keenly upward, but could not see the winged creature, whether bird or horse, because just then it had plunged into the fleecy depths of a summer cloud.  It was but a moment, however, before the object reappeared, sinking lightly down out of the cloud, although still at a vast distance from the earth.  Bellerophon caught the child in his arms and shrank back with him, so that they were both hidden among the thick shrubbery which grew all around the fountain.  Not that he was afraid of any harm, but he dreaded lest, if Pegasus caught a glimpse of them, he would fly far away and alight in some inaccessible mountain top.  For it was really the winged horse.  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 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.