I

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I

In the Lyceum’s noiseless shade

As in a garden when I grew,

I Apuleius gladly read

But would not look at Cicero.

’Twas then in valleys lone, remote,

In springtime, heard the cygnet’s note

By waters shining tranquilly,

That first the Muse appeared to me.

Into the study of the boy

There came a sudden flash of light,

The Muse revealed her first delight,

Sang childhood’s pastimes and its joy,

Glory with which our history teems

And the heart’s agitated dreams.