o's brows, with hair
Deck'd graceful, no peculiar branches bound.

Penaeian Daphne first his bosom charm'd;
No casual flame but plann'd by Love's revenge.
Him, Phoebus flush'd with conquest late obtain'd,
His bow saw bend, and thus exclaim'd in taunt:
"Lascivious boy! How ill with thee assort
"Those warlike arms?--how much my shoulders more
"Beseem the load, whose arm can deadly wounds
"In furious beasts, and every foe infix!
"I who but now huge Python have o'erthrown;
"Swol'n with a thousand darts; his mighty bulk
"Whole acres covering with pestiferous weight?
"Content in vulgar hearts thy torch to flame,
"To me the bow's superior glory leave."
Then Venus' son: "O Phoebus, nought thy dart
"Evades, nor thou canst 'scape the force of mine:
"To thee as others yield,--so much my fame
"Must ever thine transcend." Thus spoke the boy,
And lightly mounting, cleaves the yielding air
With beating wings, and on Parnassus' top
Umbrageous rests. There from his quiver drew
Two darts of different power:--this chases love;
And that desire enkindles; form'd of gold
It glistens, ending in a point acute:
Blunt is the first, tipt with a leaden load;
Which Love in Daphne's tender breast infix'd.
The sharper through Apollo's heart he drove,
And through his nerves and bones;--instant he loves:
She flies of love the name. In shady woods,
And spoils of captive beasts alone she joys;
To copy Dian' emulous; her hair
In careless tresses form'd, a fillet bound.
By numbers sought,--averse alike to all;
Impatient of their suit, through forests wild,
And groves, in maiden ignorance she roams;
Nor cares for Cupid, nor hymeneal rites,
Nor soft connubial joys. Oft cry'd her sire;
"My Daphne, you should bring to me a son;
"From you, my child, I hope for grandsons too."
But she detesting wedlock as a crime,
(Suffus'd her features with a bashful glow)
Around his aged neck, her beauteous arms,
Winds blandishing, and cries, "O sire, most dear!
"One favor grant,--perpetual to enjoy
"My virgin purity;--the mighty Jove
"The same indulgence has to Dian' given."
Thy sire complies;--but that too beauteous face,
And lovely form, thy anxious wish oppose:
Apollo loves thee;--to thy bed aspires;--
And looks with anxious hopes, his wish to gain:
Futurity, by him for once unseen.
As the light stubble when the ears are shorn,
The flames consume: as