So sung the poet in a humble strain, <br />With empty pockets, and a head in pain, <br />Where the soft clime inclin'd the soul to rest, <br />And past'ral images inspir'd the breast. <br />Apollo listen'd from his heav'nly bower, <br />And, in his health restor'd, express'd his power. <br />Pygmalion thus before the Paphian shrine, <br />With trembling vows address'd the pow'r divine; <br />Durst hardly make his hopeless wishes known, <br />And scarce a greater miracle was shown -- <br />Returning vigour glow'd in every vein, <br />And gay ideas flutter'd in the brain; <br />Back he returns to breathe his native air, <br />And all his first resolves are melted there!<br /><br />Lady Mary Wortley Montagu<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/continuation/
