Thus the sweet artist in a wondrous shade Of verdant trees, which harmony had made, Encircled sat, with his own triumphs crown’d, Of listening birds and savages around. Again the trembling strings he dext’rous tries, Again from discord makes soft music rise; Then tunes his voice: “Oh muse, from whom I sprung, Jove be my theme, and thou inspire my song: To Jove ray grateful voice I oft have raised, Oft his almighty power with pleasure praised. I sung the giants in a solemn strain, Blasted and thunderstruck on Phlegra’s plain. Now be my lyre in softer accents moved, To sing of blooming boys by gods beloved, And to relate what virgins, void of shame, Have suffer’d vengeance for a lawless flame.”