“A lake there was, with shelving banks around, Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown’d. Those shades, unknowing of the Fates, she sought, And to the Naiads flowery garlands brought; Her smiling babe (a pleasing charge) she press’d Between her arms, and nourish’d at her breast. Not distant far a watery lotus grows; The spring was new, and all the verdant boughs, Adorn’d with blossoms, promised fruits that vie In glowing colours with the Tyrian die. Of these she cropp’d, to please her infant son, And I myself the same rash act had done, But, lo! I saw (as near her side I stood) The violated blossoms drop with blood; Upon the tree I cast a frightful look, The trembling tree with sudden horror shook: Lotis the nymph (if rural tales be true), As from Priapus’ lawless love she flew, Forsook her form; and fixing here became A flowery plant, which still preserves her name.