Behind her neck her comely tresses tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her side,
A hunting Chloe went: she lost her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanced to stray.
Apollo, passing by, beheld the maid;
And, ’Sister dear, bright Cynthia, turn, (he said)
The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake.’
Loud Cupid laugh’d to see the god’s mistake;
And, laughing, cried, ’Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advised, far hence thy sister seek,
Or on Meander’s bank or Latmus’ peak;
But in this nymph, my friend, my sister, know;
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow:
Fair Thames she haunts, and every neighbouring grove,
Sacred to soft recess and gentle love.
Go, with thy Cynthia hurl the pointed spear
At the rough boar, or chase the flying deer:
I and my Chloe take a nobler aim;
At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game.’