When by some pale and livid light
I cheat the tedious hours of night,
Indulging o'er the Attic page:
The dying taper warns to rest,
Thy visions seize my ravish'd breast,
And pictur'd beauties real woes assuage.
O'er Helicon my bleating lambs I guard,
Or mix'd with dull Boeotia's simple swains
Protect my flocks in humble Ascra's plains,
And view the sky-born sisters hail their favourite bard.