Page:Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748).djvu/156

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142
TRANSLATIONS.
Who bore a quiver, and a bow;
And wings did to his shoulders grow.

Within the hearth I bid him stand,
Then chafe and cherish either hand 20
Between my palms, and wring, with care,
The trickling water from his hair.

Now come, said he, no longer chill,
We'll bend this bow, and try our skill, 24
And prove the string, how far its pow'r
Remains unslacken'd by the show'r.

He bends his bow, and culls his quiver,
And pierces, like a Breez, my liver: 28
Then leaping, laughing, as he fled,
Rejoice with me, my host, he said:
My bow is found in every part,
And you shall rue it at your heart. 32