An Ode in the Manner of Anacreon[33:2]

As late, in wreaths, gay flowers I bound,
Beneath some roses Love I found;
And by his little frolic pinion
As quick as thought I seiz'd the minion,
Then in my cup the prisoner threw,
And drank him in its sparkling dew:
And sure I feel my angry guest
Fluttering his wings within my breast!

1792.