And that at midnight oft. For thee! eleven fawns up I bring,
All great with young: and four bears' whelps, I nourish up for thee!
But come thou hither first, and thou shall have them all of me.
And let the bluish coloured sea beat on the shore so nigh,
The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly!
There are the shady bays, and there tall cypress trees do sprout:
And there is ivy black, and fertile vines are all about.
Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow,
A drink divine, which out of woody Etna mount doth flow.
In these respects, who in the sea and waves would rather be?