Kitap 2
Now Io Paean sing! now wreaths prepare!
And with repeated Ios fill the air:
The prey is fall'n in my successful toils,
My artful nets inclose the lovely spoils.
My numbers now, ye smiling lovers, crown,
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And make your poet deathless in renown:
With lasting fame my verse shall be enroll'd,
And I preferr'd to all the bards of old.
Thus Paris from the warlike Spartans bore
Their ravish'd bride to Ida's distant shore.
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Victorious Pelops thus in triumph drove
The vanquish'd maid, and thus enjoy'd his love.
Stay, eager youth! your bark's but under sail;
The distant port requires a prosp'rous gale.
'Tis not enough the yielding beauty's found,
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And with my aid your artful passion crown'd;
The conquests our successful conduct gain'd,
With art must be secur'd, by arts maintain'd.
The glory's more to guard than win the prize,
There all the toil and threatening danger lies.
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