Classic Poem

All joy to mortals, joy and mirth
Eternal Io's sing;
The gods of love descend to earth,
Their darts have lost the sting.
The youth shall now complain no more
On Sylvia's needless scorn,
But she shall love, if he adore,
And melt when he shall burn.

The nymph no longer shall be shy,
But leave the jilting road;
And Daphne now no more shall fly
The wounded panting God;
But all shall be serene and fair,
No sad complaints of love
Shall fill the gentle whispering air,
No echoing sighs the grove.

Beneath the shades young Strephon lies,
Of all his wish possessed;
Gazing on Sylvia's charming eyes,
Whose soul is there confessed.
All soft and sweet the maid appears,
With looks that know no art,
And though she yields with trembling fears,
She yields with all her heart.