For A Grotto
To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Were plac'd by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green Before my threshold, and my shelving walls With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, I slumber: here my clustering fruits I tend; Or from the humid flowers, at break of day, Fresh garlands weave, and chace from all my bounds Each thing impure or noxious. Enter-in, O stranger, undismay'd. nor bat, nor toad Here lurks: and if thy breast of blameless thoughts Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread My quiet mansion: chiefly, if thy name Wise Pallas and the immortal muses own.
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"To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call..."
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