“Prona virens cælum ſpecto, nec fulmina terrent,
Ob ſcelus excelſa quæ iacit arce pater,” &c.
“Spread out flourishing heaven I survey, nor do lightnings terrify,
Though for crime’s sake the father hurls them from citadels on high,
Yea even with my leaves I crackle, and although burnt
Daphne I name, whom the master’s love so importuned.
So conscious virtue strengthens, and placed far from destruction
Pleasing my state is to powers above, and long time is flourishing.
Men’s voices he never fears, nor the weapons of fire,
Who hath girded his mind round with snow-bright love.