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Six among the courtiers favour'dFly before the Caesar's fury,Who would as a god be worshipp'd,Though in truth no god appearing,For a fly prevents him everFrom enjoying food at table.Though with fans his servants scare it,They the fly can never banish.It torments him, stings, and troubles,And the festal board perplexes,Then returning like the heraldOf the olden crafty Fly-God."What!"--the striplings say together--"Shall a fly a god embarrass?

Music with angel-pinions hovers there,To pierce man's being to its inmost core,

When at length return'd the spring-time,To the nightingales thus spake I:"Darling nightingales, oh, beat yeEarly, early at my window,--Wake me from the heavy slumberThat chains down the youth so strongly!"Yet the love-o'erflowing songstersTheir sweet melodies protractedThrough the night before my window,Kept awake my loving spirit,Rousing new and tender yearningsIn my newly-waken'd bosom.And the night thus fleeted o'er me,And Aurora found me sleeping,--Ay, the sun could scarce arouse me.