Indi, forse per rapacità, o in onta a Cerere, ebbe l’audacia di tagliare parecchi alberi in un bosco a lei consacrato ; sicchè ella ne lo punì col tormento d’insaziabile voracità : Se l’infelice il cibo prendre Ed alla gola cupida compiace, Non la satolla, anzi l’ardore accende….

[Epigraph.] To the Muses. Whether on Ida’s shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas’d; Whether in Heav’n ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious winds have birth; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, Beneath the bosom of the sea, Wandering in many a coral grove, Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry; How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move, The sound is forc’d, the notes are few! William Blake.