| Alexander Pope: Minor poems | ||
233
VII. Lines from Horace III. iv.
While yet a Child, I chanc'd to stray,And in a Desart sleeping lay;
The savage Race withdrew, nor dar'd
To touch the Muses future Bard:
But Cytheræa's gentle Dove
Myrtles and Bays around me spread,
And crown'd your Infant Poet's Head,
Sacred to Musick and to Love.
| Alexander Pope: Minor poems | ||