WHEN Minerva， to give pleasure To Prometheus， her well-loved one， Brought a brimming bowl of nectar From the glorious realms of heaven As a blessing for his creatures， And to pour into their bosoms Impulses for arts ennobling， She with rapid footstep hasten'd， Fearing Jupiter might see her， And the golden goblet trembled， And there fell a few drops from it On the verdant plain beneath her.
Then the busy bees flew thither Straightway， eagerly to drink them， And the butterfly came quickly That he， too， might find a drop there；Even the misshapen spider Thither crawl'd and suck'd with vigour.
To a happy end they tasted， They， and other gentle insects！
For with mortals now divide they Art膖hat noblest gift of all.
1789.*
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