Here while young Proserpine, among the maids, Diverts herself in these delicious shades; While, like a child, with busy speed and care, She gathers lilies here, and violets there; While first to fill her little lap she strives, Hell’s grisly monarch at the shade arrives; Sees her thus sporting on the flowery green, And loves the blooming maid as soon as seen. His urgent flame impatient of delay, Swift as his thought he seized the beauteous prey, And bore her in his sooty car away. The frighted goddess to her mother cries; But all in vain, for now far off she flies; Far she behind her leaves her virgin train; To them too cries, and cries to them in vain; And while with passion she repeats her call, The violets from her lap and lilies fall: She misses them, poor heart! and makes new moan; Her lilies, ah! are lost, her violets gone.