And when the sweetness of the evening hours,
The fresh soft air, the beauty of the flowers,
The night-bird’s note, the gently falling dew,
Were all discuss’d, and silence would ensue,
There were some lovely Lines—if she could stay—
And Fanny rises not to go away.
“Young Paris was the shepherd’s pride,
As well the fair Œnone knew;
They sat the mountain stream beside, 140