What is it that charms?The absent she's rocking,
And cannot hurt it,But the more artful oneDefiles with nauseous venomIts silver leaves;
She may, crowned with roses,With staff twined round with lilies,Roam thro' flow'ry valleys,Rule the butterfly-people,And soft-nourishing dewWith bee-like lipsDrink from the blossom:
Now at length is come the Summer,And the early fly so busyDraws me from my pleasing slumbersAt the first-born morning-glimmer.Mercilessly then returns she,Though the half-aroused one oftenScares her from him with impatience,And she lures her shameless sisters,So that from my weary eyelidsKindly sleep ere long is driven.From my couch then boldly spring I,And I seek the darling Muses,in the beechen-grove I find them,Full of pieasure to receive me;And to the tormenting insectsOwe I many a golden hour.Thus be ye, unwelcome beings,Highly valued by the poet,As the flies my numbers tell of.
And first the big one see,So full of roguish glee!With light and merry boundHe leaps upon the ground;Then springs up on the bougd,We will not praise him now.The merry bird behold,--He's brought here to be sold.
Scenes of heav'nly rapture past,
Till your plains to graceful purity,That the sun with joy your labours see;When ye plant, your trees in rows contrive,For he makes the Regular to thrive.
Seem'd in the light of day his noble mind!How was his nature, pleasing yet sedate,
Alas! no fancies such as these
I acknowledge thee no more.Fled is all that gave thee gladness,Fled the cause of all thy sadness,
III. Book of Love :--
In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil'd,Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.
Up the trellis'd vine on high!May ye swell, twin-berries tender,Juicier far,--and with more splendour
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