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

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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 20Between 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, 24And prove the string, how far its pow'rRemains unslacken'd by the show'r.
 He bends his bow, and culls his quiver,And pierces, like a Breez, my liver: 28Then 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
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