For Cytherea’s lips while Cupid press’d, He with a heedless arrow razed her breast: The goddess felt it, and, with fury stung, The wanton mischief from her bosom flung: Yet thought at first the danger slight; but found The dart too faithful, and too deep the wound. Fired with a mortal beauty, she disdains To haunt the Idalian mount or Phrygian plains: She seeks not Cnidos, nor her Paphian shrines Nor Amathus, that teems with brazen mines: Ev’n heaven itself, with all its sweets unsought, Adonis far a sweeter heaven is thought: On him she hangs, and fonds with ev’ry art, And never, never knows from him to part. She whose soft limbs had only been display’d On rosy beds, beneath the myrtle shade, Whose pleasing care was to improve each grace, And add more charms to an unrivall’d face, Now buskin’d, like the virgin huntress, goes Through woods, and pathless wilds, and mountain snows: With her own tuneful voice she joys to cheer The panting hounds, that chase the flying deer: She runs the labyrinth of fearful hares; But fearless beasts and dangerous prey forbears;