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So pass'd the hours, when lo! the Cyprian dame,
Her guide unknown, to our retirement came:
And, lest her visit might suspected be,
Phœbe and Pallas bore her company.
What smiles, what joy she feign'd with treacherous art!
Oft call'd her sister, press'd her to her heart,
And blamed the Mother strict, who doom'd a Maid
So fair to languish in the secret shade,
Shut out from converse with the Powers above,
And banished far from the bright realm of Jove!
Our novice now, rejoicing in her bane,
Heap'd the full feast, the nectar pour'd amain;
Diana's garments to her limbs applied,
Diana's bow with supple fingers tried:
Then 'neath Minerva's helm her locks conceal'd,
And strove to guard her with the mighty shield.
The Goddess wise approves her jocund play;
But Venus now malignly leads the way
To speak of Henna, and it's flowers renown'd,
That bloom with springes eternal beauty crown'd.
"Is it indeed the truth, as runs the tale,
That winter never smites that favoured vale—
That month by month fresh roses deck the scene,
And still the meadows and the woods are green?
