Fatigued with sleep and youthful toil of play,
When on a mountain’s brow reclined I lay,
Near to my natal soil, around my head
The fabled woodland doves a verdant foliage spread;
Matter, be sure, of wonder most profound
To all the gazing habitants around,
Who dwell in Acherontia’s airy glades,
Amid the Bantian woods, or low Ferentum’s meads.
By snakes of poison black and beasts of prey,
That thus in dewy sleep unharmed I lay;