“Hail! Mother of Mankind, whose fruitful womb Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons Than with these various fruits the trees of God Have heaped this table!” Raised of grassy turf Their table was, and mossy seats had round, And on her ample square from side to side All autumn piled, though spring and autumn here Danced hand-in-hand. A while discourse they hold⁠— No fear lest dinner cool⁠—when thus began Our Author: “Heavenly stranger, please to taste These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom All perfect good, unmeasured-out, descends, To us for food and for delight hath caused The Earth to yield: unsavoury food, perhaps, To spiritual natures; only this I know, That one celestial Father gives to all.”