Goddess, goddess of the dimpling smile,
Quit, ah! quit thy fav'rite isle:
Crowned with myrtle wreath, advance;
From the hand of giddy chance
Snatch the power to make us blessed.
Be it thine to ease my breast. 

In her ivory car the fair queen I behold,
Her cygnets in trappings of purple and gold
Displaying their pinions; I see the young loves,
All brighter than sunshine, all soft as her doves.
With rapture, O Venus, I bow at thy shrine.
She whispers me softly: Young Thyrsis is thine.