Lines, From the Greek of Menage

While here I waste in fruitless sighs,
Afar my cruel D ELIA flies:
Kind Venus ! to those longing arms
Again restore her bloomy charms,
And lo! thy myrtle-woven fane
A heifer's tender blood shall stain,
But should she to my suit incline,
My herd, my little herd be thine!
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