Roman Elegy 4: These few leaves, oh ye Graces, a bard presents, in your honour

THESE few leaves, oh ye Graces, a bard presents, in your honour,
On your altar so pure, adding sweet rosebuds as well,
And he does it with hope. The artist is glad in his workshop,
When a Pantheon it seems round him for ever to bring.
Jupiter knits his godlike brow,--her's, Juno up-lifteth;
Phoebus strides on before, shaking his curly-lock'd head
Calmly and drily Minerva looks down, and Hermes the light one,
Turneth his glances aside, roguish and tender at once.
But tow'rds Bacchus, the yielding, the dreaming, raiseth Cythere
Looks both longing and sweet, e'en in the marble yet moist.
Of his embraces she thinks with delight, and seems to be asking
"Should not our glorious son take up his place by our side?"