_Ode Xlv._

As late I sought the spangled bowers, To cull a wreath of matin flowers, Where many an early rose was weeping, I found the urchin Cupid sleeping. I caught the boy, a goblet's tide Was richly mantling by my side, I caught him by his downy wing, And whelm'd him in the racy spring.

Oh! then I drank the poison'd bowl, And Love now nestles in my soul! Yes, yes, my soul is Cupid's nest, I feel him fluttering in my breast.