My thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise: But he, grim-grinning King,...
Phoebus, arise! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red; Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, That she thy c'reer may with roses spread; The nightingales thy coming each-where sing;...
That zephyr every year So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, It was for her: that wrapp'd in gowns of green Meads were so early seen, That in the saddest months oft sung the merles,...
Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train, Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs: The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show'rs....
Alexis, here she stay'd; among these pines, Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair; Here did she spread the treasure of her hair, More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines....