24
Her voice is heard—"My sisters, haste away,
While steams the air with morning's early ray;
While mine own Star—on rapid courser borne—
Bids silvery dews the blushing fields adorn,
Gather with me!" she spake, and bent her low,
And pluck'd the flower that signifies her woe.
Nor paused the rest—through every quiet nook,
Where flowers might bloom, their rapid way they took.
So, at their Queen's command, descend the bees
On Hybla's thyme, their fragrant prey to seize:
Forth from the hollow beech their thousands pour,
And, gaily buzzing, heap the honied store.
Soon, soon are reft the glories of the field;
Their spoil the violets and lilies yield:
The scented marjoram is flowerless now,
Fast drop the snow-flakes from the privet's bough,
And rose-buds shine, like stars, on many a maiden brow.
Nor thee, Narcissus, do their fingers spare,
Nor thee, whose leaves the mournful letters wear,
Sad Hyacinthus, famed Amyclæ's son:
Narcissus, born in sacred Helicon.
Both youths renown'd of old, ere flowers they grew;
His doom the discus, his the fount, to rue.
