The wingèd boys, where shade invites, repose
On every side; unstrung their loosened bows;
While, on a neighboring branch suspended high,
With gentle flames their breathing quivers sigh.
Some wakeful sport, or through the thickets rove;
Climb for the nest, or blithely strip the grove
Of dewy apples for the Queen of Love;
Along the bough’s curved windings creeping cling,
Or hang from topmost elm with light-poised wing.”
Ausonius of Bordeaux, an affected verse-maker of the fourth century, wrote much that is second-rate, in the way of epigrams and idyls, too often of a licentious tone; but there is some merit in the following reflections on