“The boy knew naught of love, and, touch’d with shame, He strove, and blush’d, but still the blush became; In rising blushes still fresh beauties rose; The sunny side of fruit such blushes shows, And such the moon, when all her silver white Turns in eclipses to a ruddy light. The nymph still begs, if not a nobler bliss, A cold salute at least, a sister’s kiss; And now prepares to take the lovely boy Between her arms. He, innocently coy, Replies, ‘Or leave me to myself alone, You rude uncivil nymph, or I’ll be gone.’ ‘Fair stranger, then,’ says she, ‘it shall be so;’ And, for she fear’d his threats, she feign’d to go; But, hid within a covert’s neighbouring green, She kept him still in sight, herself unseen. The boy now fancies all the danger o’er, And innocently sports about the shore; Playful and wanton to the stream he trips, And dips his foot, and shivers as he dips. The coolness pleased him, and, with eager haste, His airy garments on the banks he cast; His godlike features, and his heavenly hue, And all his beauties, were exposed to view.