Page:From the Garden of Hellas.djvu/24

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By the god Pan of Arcady I vow Sweet is thy singing, Zenophil, and thou Sweetly can'st play the lyre.&mdash;Where can I flee From all thy various charms besieging me? Not for a moment will they let me rest. Now 'tis thy slender form in beauty drest, Now 'tis thy voice, thy grace. What do I say? It is thyself for whom I burn alway!



Yes, I call on Love to witness,
 * I would rather lend my ear

To the voice of Heliodora
 * Than Apollo's music hear!