Epigram 48: Thus Giant Polyphemus sweetly sung

Thus Giant Polyphemus sweetly sung,
While o’er the cliffs his goats untended hung :
The muse to hopeless love is ever kind ;
The power of wisdom heals a wounded mind,
And meagre famine brings this only good,
it calms the pulse, and cools the glowing blood.
Mischievous boy, my thoughts no more shall rove ;
I'll clip with these the fluttering wings of love,
Despise thy power, swift hasten home, and there
With wisdom and the muse dispel my care.