I. for a Grotto

To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actaea, daughter of the neighb'ring stream, This cave belongs. The figtree and the vine Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot Were plac'd by Glycon: he with cowslips pale, Primrose and purple lychnis, deck'd the green Before my threshold, and my shelving walls With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon Lall'd by the murmur of my rising fount I slumber: here my clust'ring fruits I tend, Or from the humid flow'rs at break of day Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in O Stranger! undismay'd; nor bat nor toad Here lurks; and if thy breast of blameless thoughts Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread My quiet mansion, chiefly if thy name Wise Pallas and th' immortal Muses own.