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60  Lies slumb'ring mid the leafy bower, Herself the fairest, frailest flower,— Before the startled maid can rouse He breathes his hasty, burning vows, And while his breast with Bacchus glows, His lawless love he dares propose. In vain the angry fair denies, He better reads her telltale eyes; And sure of victory ere 'tis won, His eager suit he urges on; And when his soft persuasion fails, Rude, boisterous Bacchus oft prevails: And thus the wanton god decoys The youth to wild intemperate joys.

, my friend, shalt sweep the string, I, in softest strains will sing, While its fragrance round us flows, The queen of flowers—the lovely rose. Its perfumed breath ascends the skies On every gentle gale that sighs: Its sweets descend to earth again, Alike beloved by gods and men. When Spring awakes the slumbering flowers, And music breathes amid the bowers, Thee, darling gem, the Graces wear Intwined amid their flowing hair; And rosy wreaths alone may dress The queen of love and loveliness. In every song and fable known The Muses claim thee as their own.