And in plain speech my chanceful story tell;
Though much it grieves me to retrace the source,
Whence sprung this god-sent pest, and of my shape
Disfigurement abhorred. Night after night
Strange dreams around my maiden pillow hovering
Whispered soft temptings. “O thrice-blessed maid,
Why pin’st thou thus in virgin loneliness,
When highest wedlock courts thee? Struck by the shaft
Of fond desire for thee Jove burns, and pants
To twine his loves with thine. Spurn not, O maid,