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Come, favouring Power, and make my thickets glad,
By thy warm breath in budding beauty clad;
That Hybla's self may envy as she sees,
And own her gardens are surpass'd by these.
The steaming incense of Panchaia's groves,
The grateful odours that Hydaspes loves,
The wealth Arabia's bird of ages stores
To grace her burial, ere to life she soars,
Haste, bring them all—and through my veins diffuse
The vital spirit of their fragrant dews;
That hands divine may pluck the germs I bear,
And heavenly brows my garlands joy to wear!"
She spake—and he, well pleased such spouse to wed,
His pinions moist with freshest nectar spread.
Spring blush'd beneath, where'er he turned his flight,
The earth with verdure teem'd, with glory dight
Heaven's vault expanded wide, serenely bright.
The roses crimson hues contrasted met
Dark hyacinth, and purple violet:
With these what belt of Parthian despot vies—
What fleece, deep-tinctured with Assyrian dyes?
Less gay the plumes by Juno's bird displayed,
Less bright the arch by changeful Iris laid,
