Classic Poem

Now round my favoured grot let roses rise,
To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest!
Oh happy buds, to kiss his burning breast,
And die beneath the lustre of his eyes!
Now let the timbrels echo to the skies,
Now damsels sprinkle cassia on his vest,
With odorous wreaths of constant myrtle dressed,
And flowers, deep tinted with the rainbow's dyes!
From cups of porphyry let nectar flow,
Rich as the perfume of Phoenicia's vine!
Now let his dimpling cheek with rapture glow,
While round his heart love's mystic fetters twine;
And let the Grecian lyre its aid bestow,
In songs of triumph to proclaim him mine!…