As thro' this sylvan Scene I stray'd,
I saw and lov'd the Iv'ry Maid:
And hearing that she fled from Man,
I begg'd this Form of mighty Pan;
To try, by ev'ry winning Art,
To gain Possession of her Heart;
When raging Tempests cloud the Sky,
Transported at her Feet to lie;
When Phoebus brightens up the Weather,
To trip it o'er the Lawns together.