But come, thou Goddess fair and free, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a Maying, There, on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair, 2 So buxom, blithe, and debonair. |