More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed,
Or Lydian flute, can soothe the madding wind,
And through the stormy deep
Breathe thine own tender calm.
Thee, best beloved! the virgin train await
With songs, and festal rites, and joy to rove
Thy blooming wilds among,
And vales and dewy lawns,
With untired feet; and cull thy earliest sweets
To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow