Then, since such gifts with heavenly minds agree,
Shed, goddess-like, your blandishments on me;
And say, Neæra! for that form divine
Speaks thee descended of ethereal line,—
Say, goddess! than that goddess lovelier far
Who roams o’er ocean in her pearly car,—
Your kisses, boons celestial, why withhold,
Or why by scanty numbers are they told?
Still you ne’er count, hard-hearted maid, those sighs
Which in my laboring breast incessant rise;