'NEATH the shadowOf these bushes， On the meadowWhere the cooling water gushes.
Phoebus gave me， when a boy， All life's fullness to enjoy.
So， in silence， as the God Bade them with his sov'reign nod， Sacred Muses train'd my days To his praise.--With the bright and silv'ry flood Of Parnassus stirr'd my blood， And the seal so pure and chaste By them on my lips was placed.
With her modest pinions， see， Philomel encircles me！
In these bushes， in yon grove，Calls she to her sister-throng，And their heavenly choral song Teaches me to dream of love.
Fullness waxes in my breast Of emotions social， blest；Friendship's nurtured膌ove awakes，--
And the silence Phoebus breaks Of his mountains， of his vales， Sweetly blow the balmy gales；All for whom he shows affection， Who are worthy his protection， Gladly follow his direction.
This one comes with joyous bearingAnd with open， radiant gaze；That a sterner look is wearing， This one， scarcely cured， with daringWakes the strength of former days；For the sweet， destructive flame Pierced his marrow and his frame.
That which Amor stole before Phoebus only can restore， Peace， and joy， and harmony， Aspirations pure and free.
Brethren， rise ye！
Numbers prize ye！
Deeds of worth resemble they.
Who can better than the bard Guide a friend when gone astray？
If his duty he regard， More he'll do， than others may.
Yes！ afar I hear them sing！
Yes！ I hear them touch the string， And with mighty godlike strokeRight and duty they inspire， And evoke，As they sing， and wake the lyre， Tendencies of noblest worth， To each type of strength give birth.
Phantasies of sweetest power Flower Round about on ev'ry bough， Bending now Like the magic wood of old， 'Neath the fruit that gleams like gold.
What we feel and what we viewIn the land of highest bliss，--This dear soil， a sun like this，--
Lures the best of women too.
And the Muses' breathings blest Rouse the maiden's gentle breast， Tune the throat to minstrelsy， And with cheeks of beauteous dye， Bid it sing a worthy song， Sit the sister-band among；And their strains grow softer still， As they vie with earnest will.
One amongst the band betimesGoes to wander By the beeches， 'neath the limes，Yonder seeking， finding yonder That which in the morning-grove She had lost through roguish Love， All her breast's first aspirations， And her heart's calm meditations， To the shady wood so fairGently stealing， Takes she that which man can ne'erDuly merit，--each soft feeling，--Disregards the noontide ray And the dew at close of day，？
In the plain her path she loses.
Ne'er disturb her on her way！
Seek her silently， ye MusesShouts I hear， wherein the sound Of the waterfall is drown'd.
From the grove loud clamours rise， Strange the tumult， strange the cries.
See I rightly？ Can it be？
To the very sanctuary， Lo， an impious troop in-hies！
O'er the land Streams the band；
Hot desire， Drunken-fire In their gaze Wildly plays，--Makes their hair Bristle there.
And the troop， With fell swoop， Women， men， Coming then， Ply their blows And expose， Void of shame， All the frame.
Iron shot， Fierce and hot， Strike with fear On the ear；All they slay On their way.
O'er the land Pours the band；
All take flight At their sight.
Ah， o'er ev'ry plant they rush！
