University of Virginia Library

ODE XXII. To Bathyllus.

Come, Bathyllus, to this shade
By close-mingling branches made.
Branches sweet! Whose tender hair
Sport with ev'ry breath of air.
Nourish'd by fresh streams below
Softly murm'ring as they flow.
Who, by folly not betray'd,
Who wou'd fly so sweet a shade?
 

απαλας χ[]ιτας.