What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft, amidst those shades alone,
Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon.
For know, by lot from Jove, I am the Power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower, 45
To nurse the saplings tall, and [curl the grove]
[With ringlets quaint and wanton windings wove];
And all my plants I save from nightly ill
Of [noisome] winds and blasting vapors chill;
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew, 50