But tow'rds Bacchus, the yielding, the dreaming, raiseth
Cythere
Looks both longing and sweet, e'en in the marble yet
moist.
Of his embraces she thinks with delight, and seems to be
asking: --
"Should not our glorious son take up his place by our
side?"

AMOR is ever a rogue, and all who believe him are cheated!
To me the hypocrite came: "Trust me, I pray thee, this
once.
Honest is now my intent, -- with grateful thanks I ac-
knowledge
That thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship
ordain'd.
See, I have follow'd thee thither, to Rome, with kindly in-
tention,
Hoping to give thee mine aid, e'en in the foreigner's land.
Every trav'ller complains that the quarters he meets with
are wretched;
Happily lodged, though, is he, who is by Amor receiv'd.
Thou dost observe the ruins of ancient buildings with
wonder,
Thoughtfully wandering on, over each time-hallow'd spot.
Thou dost honour still more the worthy relics created
By the few artists whom I loved in their studios to seek.
I'twas fashion'd those forms! thy pardon, -- I boast not at
present;
Presently thou shalt confess, that what I tell thee is true.
Now that thou serv'st me more idly, where are the beauteous
figures,
Where are the colours, the light, which thy creations once
fill'd?
Hast thou a mind again to form? The school of the Grecians
Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr'd up
its doors.
I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,
Love not the subtle and old; Mother, observe what I
say!
Still was new the Antique, when yonder blest ones were
fliving;
Happily live, -- and, in thee, ages long vanish'd will live!
Food for song, where hop'st thou to find it? I only can
give it,

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