So soft his pipe, so sweet his air:
None heard, but felt the power of love,
’Mong all the nymphs assembl’d there.
Not Philomel’s delightful strain
Could such extatic joys impart,
As did thy notes, O darling swain!
Which well can cheer the anxious heart.
His count’nance as Aurora bright,
His smiles gave joy to all around;
In virtue, wit, and all that’s right,