  When Minerva, granting graces To her darling, her Prometheus, Brought a brimming bowl of nectar To the underworld from heaven To rejoice his race of mortals, And to quicken in their bosom Of all gracious arts the impulse, Fearing Jupiter should see her, With a rapid foot she hastened, And the golden bowl was shaken, And there fell some slender sprinklings On the verdurous plain below her. Whereupon the bees grew busy With the same in eager sucking. Came the butterfly as eager Some small drop to gather also. Even the spider, the unshapely, Hither crept and sucked with gusto. Happy are they to have tasted, They and other delicate creatures, For they share henceforth with mortals Art, of all earth’s joys the fairest. |
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