For A Grotto

To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call

Actæa, daughter of the neighbouring stream,

This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine,

Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot,

Were plac'd by Glycon. He with cowslips pale,

Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green

Before my threshold, and my shelving walls

With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon,

Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount,

I slumber: here my clustering fruits i tend;

Or from the humid flowers, at break of day,

Fresh garlands weave, and chace from all my bounds

Each thing impure or noxious. Enter-in,

O stranger, undismay'd. nor bat, nor toad

Here lurks: and if thy breast of blameless thoughts

Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread

My quiet mansion: chiefly, if thy name

Wise Pallas and the immortal muses own.