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Her charms with equal joy we press'd,Her swelling cheeks anon caress'd,Lured onward by a yearning blest,

In place of palms must stand:In fine, one seeks some twig that's green,

To the hand but wont to stealO'er the lyre in gentle mood.From the sparkling waterfalls,From the brook that purling calls,Shall Silenus' loathsome beastBe allow'd at will to feast?Aganippe's * wave he sipsWith profane and spreading lips,--With ungainly feet stamps madly,Till the waters flow on sadly.