Whether 'tis Spring's first shiver, faintly heardThrough the light leaves, or lizards in the brakeThe rustling thorns have stirr'd,Her heart, her knees, they quake.Yet I, who chase you, no grim lion am,No tiger fell, to crush you in my gripe:Come, learn to leave your dam.For lover's kisses ripe.Why blush to let our tears unmeasured fallFor one so dear? Begin the mournful stave,Melpomene, to whom the sire of allSweet voice with music gave.And sleeps he then the heavy sleep of death,Quintilius? Piety, twin sister dearOf Justice! naked Truth! unsullied Faith!When will ye find his peer?By many a good man wept, Quintilius dies;By none than you, my Virgil, trulier wept:Devout in vain, you chide the faithless skies,Asking your loan ill-kept.