The press, or literary chit-chat | ||
XI.
With lute in hand, lo! next advancing,Rosy nymphs around her dancing,
Fair Ida came, her hair loose floating,
Pleasure ev'ry glance denoting,
Passion glitter'd in her eye
And hung on each voluptuous sigh;
Myrtle garlands round her flung,
Thus the tender damsel sung—
The press, or literary chit-chat | ||