Of orange trees, where fruit and flow'rs did grow,
And which in various forms, all lovely, meet
With their thick shades against the fervid glow
Of summer days, afforded a retreat;
And nightingales, devoid of fear, among
Those branches fluttered, pouring forth their song.
Amid the lilies white and roses red,
Ever more freshened by the tepid air,
The stag was seen, with his proud lofty head,
And feeling safe, the rabbit and the hare....