Flora herself, envies to see
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.

XXII.

Ah, goddess! would thou could'st thy hand with-hold,
And be less liberal to gold;
Didst thou less value to it give,
Of how much care (alas) might'st thou poor man relieve!

XXIII.

To me the sun is more delightful far,
And all fair days much fairer are;
But few, ah wondrous few there be,
Who do not Gold prefer, O goddess, ev'n to thee.

XXIV.

Thro' the soft ways of Heav'n, and air, and sea,
Which open all their pores to thee,
Like a clear river thou dost glide,
And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.

XXV.

But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land overflows;
Takes there possession, and does make,
Of colours mingled light, a thick and standing lake.