She led young Cupid; as in thought profound
His modest eyes were fixed upon the ground;
And thus she spoke: “To thee, dear swain, I bring
My little son; instruct the boy to sing”.
No more she said; but vanished into air,
And left the wily pupil to my care:
I,—(sure I was an idiot for my pains),
Began to teach him old bucolic strains;
How Pan the pipe, how Pallas formed the flute,
Phœbus the lyre, and Mercury the lute: