Oh, shrill-voiced insect, that, with dew-drops sweet
Inebriate, dost in desert woodlands sing;
Perch’d on the spray-top with indented feet,
Thy dusky body’s echoings, harp-like ring.
Come, dear Cicada! chirp to all the grove,
The nymphs, and Pan, a new responsive strain;
That I, in noonday sleep, may steal from love,
Reclined beneath this dark o’erspreading plane.
_Translation of_ SIR C. A. ELTON.