If ever in the sylvan shade A song immortal we have made, Come now, O lute, I pri' thee come -- Inspire a song of Latium.
A Lesbian first thy glories proved -- In arms and in repose he loved To sweep thy dulcet strings and raise His voice in Love's and Liber's praise; The Muses, too, and him who clings To Mother Venus' apron-strings, And Lycus beautiful, he sung In those old days when you were young.
O shell, that art the ornament Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content To Jove, and soothing troubles all -- Come and requite me, when I call!
End of title
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
