Let them love now, who never loved before,
And they who always loved, now love the more.
As fair Dione to the myrtle grove
Calls her gay nymphs with song and tender love,
Though hastily they venture. should they go
While they have hearts and Cupid wears a bow?
A safe excursion is his mother's will;
He walks unarmed without designing ill;
His torch extinct, his quiver useless hung,
His arrows idle and his bow unstrung.
And yet, O nymphs beware—his eyes have charms—
They cast a spell that leads to loving arms!
The vernal father bid the Spring appear,
in clouds he coupled to produce the year,
The sap descending o'er her bosom ran,
And all the various sorts of soul began.
By means unknown to sight, by secret veins
Distilling life, the fruitful goddess reigns,
With fertile seed she filled the pervious earth,
And ever fixed the mystic ways of birth.
She paints the purple year with varied show,
Then tips the gem and makes the blossom glow.
She makes the turgid buds receive the breeze,
Expand to leaves, and shade the naked trees.
She gathers drops the misty nights diffuse
And sprinkles all the morn with balmy dews.
Bright trembling pearls depend at every spray,
though kept from falling seem to fall away