In a letter of May 14, 1739, Elizabeth Carter describes a trip from London to Windsor with the writer, Thomas Birch, and some other male friends. Early in the journey, through the \u2018contrary Influence of some more potent planet\u2019, the group spontaneously desired to change their course, and they rode off towards Oxford instead. At Stokenchurch in Oxfordshire, while her \u2018prosaic\u2019 male companions were \u2018plodding along the beaten Road\u2019, Carter suddenly broke away. Inspired by the beauty of her surroundings, she began to climb the hill at Stokenchurch on her own, \u2018a poetical Excursion into a Wood on the Top of the Hill\u2019. As Carter describes it, she was transported by the sublimity of the surroundings. The men waited impatiently below her, \u2018absolutely deaf\u2019 to her \u2018fine descriptions of treading upon Hyacinths & Violets & conversing with the Genius of the Wood\u2019. Surprised by Carter\u2019s intrepid spirit and by the difficulty of the climb, some of the men joked that Pegasus, the winged horse of Greek mythology, must have helped her up. Others, she says, gave her the Greek epithet aerobates <\/em>(\u2018air-walker\u2019), which they \u2018maliciously translated\u2019 as \u2018like a witch upon a Broomstick\u2019. As the most famous female classicist of the eighteenth century, Carter could easily have translated the word herself. She recounts the anecdote in a private letter to a friend, but the incident may well have stood out for her because of its symbolic associations. In her writing, she often associates the freedom to pursue intellectual pleasures with upward movement, climbing or flight. The stereotypical vision of the learned woman as a witch represents education as a dark power that she ought not to have; and, indeed, Carter herself elsewhere described intellectual activity as a seductive sort of \u2018conjuring\u2019 or witchcraft. Yet the pervasive classical elements in this anecdote \u2013 the \u2018Genius of the wood\u2019, Pegasus, aerobates <\/em>\u2013 are a reminder that it was precisely Carter\u2019s classical learning that allowed her to deviate, at least partially, from the \u2018beaten Road\u2019 of society\u2019s expectations, and cultivate erudition on her own.[1]<\/a><\/p>\n Elizabeth Carter (1717-1806) was one of the best known of the Bluestockings, a circle of women who came to cultural prominence in the mid-eighteenth century for their learning and their intimate friendships with one another. She was taught Latin, Greek, and Hebrew by her father as a child, and as an adult followed a strict reading routine, waking between four and five in the morning and warding off sleep through snuff, tea, coffee, and wet towels bound around her head.[2]<\/a> She rejected marriage from all suitors. Instead, she dedicated herself to scholarly pursuits, gaining her greatest fame and her financial independence with the publication of All the Works of Epictetus <\/em>(1758), <\/em>the first complete English translation of the lectures of the Stoic philosopher of the second century CE. Her poems, which were mostly written for private circulation but were later anthologized in various forms, return again and again to particular themes. Carter describes the brilliance of other women\u2019s achievements; she evokes the solemn melancholy of the night and the tomb, in the manner of contemporary graveyard poetry; and she celebrates the soaring power of the mind, its transcendence of the limitations of the physical body. Scholars have been drawn to some of these poems, especially a poetic dialogue between body and mind, in which the two are described as \u2018plagues to each other\u2019, like \u2018husband and wife\u2019.[3]<\/a> But a less well-studied poem, \u2018To \u00be . On his Design of Cutting Down a Shady Walk\u2019, demonstrates Carter\u2019s favorite motifs with equal vividness. This text, a plea to save a grove of trees, is also an ode to the ability of the nature to inspire thought and ideas, and a striking revision of typical celebrations of male genius.<\/p>\n While the poem is ostensibly addressed to the owner of the trees, originally it formed part of a private communication between Carter and other women in her circle. In August 1745, she was staying at the home of Dr. Walwyn, prebendary of Canterbury, in order to be close to her friend, Elizabeth Hall. In a letter to her fellow Bluestocking, Catherine Talbot (1721-1770), Carter says that Dr. Walwyn planned to cut down some trees on his property that formed \u2018a very pretty romantic gloom\u2019, because they were preventing the ripening of his fruit. Upset about the loss of the trees, Carter wrote the poem to please Miss Hall, she says, and then enclosed it in her letter to Talbot; only three years afterwards was it published for a wider audience.[4]<\/a> In a posthumous reprinting of the poem, a note was added to say that the grove was, in fact, cut down. But there is no evidence that Carter ever thought it proper \u2013 or possible \u2013 to prevent her host from cutting down his trees. Rather, the poem is an act of communication between these three women, an ode to the imaginative potential of the grove and to the intangible value of intellectual labor.[5]<\/a> Here is the text in full:<\/p>\n In plaintive Notes, that tun\u2019d to Woe Ah! Stop thy sacrilegious Hand, (5) Canst thou, the Son of Science, train\u2019d Beneath the Platane<\/em>\u2019s spreading Branch, To Latian <\/em>Groves reflect thy View, Within the Beechen <\/em>Shade retir\u2019d, Reflect, before the fatal Ax (25) Not all the glowing Fruits, that blush My Shade a Produce may supply, The first stanza establishes Carter\u2019s speaking voice for the rest of the poem: a \u2018weeping Hamadryad\u2019, a nymph of classical mythology who lived in the woods and symbolized for ancient thinkers the sacred and human-like qualities of trees. Servius, the fourth-century commentator on Virgil, defines hamadryads as \u2018nymphs who are born and die with trees. It was a hamadryad that Erysichthon killed. When he cut into the tree, her voice and her blood burst out together, as Ovid teaches us\u2019.[6]<\/a> Servius is referring to Ovid\u2019s Metamorphoses <\/em>(8.738-878), where the impious Erysichthon takes a \u2018savage axe\u2019 (saevam bipennem<\/em>, 766) to an oak sacred to the goddess Ceres, thereby killing the hamadryad within. Ceres inflicts the tree-violator with a terrible hunger, so that the more he eats, the hungrier he gets. Insatiable, he consumes all that the earth produces \u2013 \u2018whatever is reared by sea, land, or air\u2019 (830) \u2013 until he dies by eating his own body. Cutting down trees in antiquity was a \u2018hazardous act, stigmatized by society and divinity alike\u2019 (Thomas 1988: 263), and in many texts severing branches or cutting down trees is frequently accompanied by forebodings of evil or death. When Carter imagines herself as a hamadryad, and Dr. Walwyn as an impious invader who threatens \u2018Doom\u2019 with his \u2018fatal Ax\u2019, it is likely that she has this famous story of Erysichthon specifically in mind. \u2018Sacrilegious Hand\u2019 (line 5) is close to the phrase Ovid uses to describe the violator\u2019s \u2018wicked hand\u2019 (manus impia, Metamorphoses <\/em>8.761), and the hyperbolic allusion to all the fruits of India (29-30) may recall the world-consuming hunger with which Erysichthon was cursed. Presumably, Dr. Walwyn just wanted his fruit to ripen. Carter fuses this everyday situation with the heightened emotion and imagination of classical myth, so that Walwyn is prepared to \u2018violate the Shade\u2019 to sate his \u2018sensual Taste\u2019.<\/p>\n The poem argues that true values have been inverted. Any profit or utility in the fruit is worth less, Carter asserts, than the artistic inspiration offered by the old, shady grove of trees. The ideas fostered by the grove\u2019s romantic gloom are therefore a paradoxical yet more valuable kind of \u2018Produce\u2019 (33), opposed to \u2018Apollo\u2019s rays\u2019 (sunlight) but in harmony with Apollo\u2019s lyre (poetic inspiration, 36). In stanzas three to six, Carter appeals a series of classical examples to support this argument. Plato was inspired by the plane tree, she says, alluding to the opening of the Phaedrus <\/em>(13-4); Aristotle by the Lyceum, the shaded gymnasium outside Athens\u2019 city walls where he established his school (15-6); Cicero by the \u2018Tuscan Gloom\u2019 of his villa, the dramatic setting of his Tusculan Disputations<\/em> (16-20); and Virgil by the beech tree, echoing the first line of the Eclogues <\/em>(21-4). The show of classical learning is in part designed to shame the Oxford-educated Walwyn, a \u2018Son of Science\u2019, who, naturally, should put ideas before fruit. (As a woman, Carter could not have attended Oxford, although she personally prepared her brother for entrance to Cambridge). But her description of these classical figures also subtly undercuts the usual praise of ancient male luminaries. Aristotle did not merely teach in the Lyceum, according to Carter\u2019s poem. Instead, the landscape \u2018form\u2019d the Depth\u2019 of his thought, as if the environment itself shaped and determined his philosophy. \u2018Bless the gloom\u2019 of Cicero\u2019s villa, she says, rather than Cicero, whose name is unmentioned. In Virgil\u2019s vignette, it is the female Muses who wreath the passive poet\u2019s brow, and the trees that offer him inspiration. The wordplay between \u2018Platane\u2019 <\/em>(plane-tree) and Plato <\/em>suggests a closer, causal association between the philosopher and his arboreal setting. Elsewhere in her poems, Carter replaces typical odes to masculine genius with praise of other female writers. Here, instead, she credits the environment for the ideas propounded by classical thinkers. Her organic image of the \u2018Growth of Thought\u2019 (28) hints both at an alternative, ecological vision of the classical tradition, and a subtly subversive revision of encomia to heroic male achievement.<\/p>\n The complex of images of artistic inspiration and cutting down trees also has a personal and professional aspect, since it recalls a poetic exchange that brought Carter the widest attention of her early career. In July 1738, Carter visited Alexander Pope\u2019s gardens at Twickenham, and was captivated by their elegant naturalness and evocative disorder. \u2018One would fancy it the sequestered Habitation of a Society of wood nymphs\u2019, she wrote in a private letter.[7]<\/a> In the same month, an anonymous poet \u2013 almost certainly Samuel Johnson \u2013 published a Latin epigram commemorating Carter\u2019s visit in Gentleman\u2019s Magazine<\/em>. By that point, Carter had published a series of poems of her own in Gentleman\u2019s Magazine, <\/em>and the poet uses the trip to Pope\u2019s garden ostensibly to celebrate the female writer\u2019s new-found poetic success:[8]<\/a><\/p>\n Elysios <\/em>Popi dum ludit laeta per hortos<\/em> [While happy Eliza sports in the Elysian gardens of Pope, look! \u2013 she plucks some laurel with her greedy hand. No need for theft! If Pope should deny you the laurel you desire, sweet Eliza, then Apollo will grant it].<\/p>\n The epigram caused a minor sensation, and was followed in the next month\u2019s issue by no less than three translations into English by different contributors to the magazine. One very free English adaptation of the Latin epigram, perhaps also by Johnson himself, recasts it in the mold of another story from Ovid\u2019s Metamorphoses<\/em>, the narrative of the nymph Daphne\u2019s pursuit by the lustful Apollo and her transformation into a laurel tree to avoid rape. Startlingly, the poet casts Carter not in the role of the nymph, but of the pursuing god: \u2018Cease, lovely thief! my tender limbs to wound,\/ (Cry\u2019d Daphne <\/em>whisp\u2019ring from the yielding tree)\u2019.[9]<\/a> Behind the ostensible praise of Carter\u2019s new celebrity is a disturbing gender reversal. She is imagined in a lush pastoral setting but is assimilated to the male <\/em>god pursuing a nymph. The scene of Carter plucking a laurel branch in Pope\u2019s garden has become a symbol for her invasion of the bounded world of male poetic success.<\/p>\n Jennifer Wallace (2003: 318-20) has analyzed in detail these double-handed poetic compliments, in which images of theft and violation frequently accompanied commemoration of Carter\u2019s rising celebrity. Her presence among learned men inspired both admiration and admonition. Carter too responded to the poem about Pope\u2019s garden in her own Latin epigram in the Gentleman\u2019s Magazine<\/em>. The alleged \u2018theft\u2019, she says, brings her no joy:[10]<\/a><\/p>\n En marcet Laurus, nec quicquam juvit Elizae, <\/em> [Look! \u2013 the laurel droops, nor does it please Eliza at all to have stealthily stolen it with sacrilegious hand. The laurel seeks a more appropriate abode, the brow of POPE; and it refuses to flourish in poorer soil].<\/p>\n Here as in the other \u2018Pope\u2019s garden\u2019 poems, the pastoral space is legible as a symbolic representation of the professional landscape, a means of debating the boundaries and decorum of literary writing and publishing. Carter deferentially accepts the role of tree violator in which she was cast in the original epigram, but claims that the alleged \u2018theft\u2019 gave her no joy, and says humbly that the leaves are dying around her brow. To return to \u2018On his Design of Cutting Down a Shady Walk\u2019, a specific allusion links this earlier exchange of verses on Pope\u2019s garden with the later and more assertive poem to Dr. Walwyn. Carter had depicted herself stealing the laurel \u2018with sacrilegious hand\u2019 (sacrilega\u2026 manu<\/em>). But now she passes that role back on to a male figure \u2013 the figure of Dr. Walwyn, to whom she issues the forceful command: \u2018Stop thy sacrilegious hand\u2019. In the reminiscence of the earlier incident, and her reassertion of an identification with the nymph rather then the violator, Carter is righting an earlier professional wrong.<\/p>\n Indeed, Carter\u2019s identification with classical nymphs is surprisingly pervasive throughout her work Rather than any simple idealization of nature, these passages all reflect her sense of comfort or vulnerability in the different spaces of her personal or professional life. In expressing her love of walking outdoors, for example, she writes in 1746 that health \u2018flies from the downy pillow of sloth, and the confinement of studious repose\u2019 and \u2018lives in the wild rage of rural scenes, and converses with mountain nymphs and hamadryads\u2019 (Pennington 1807: 72). Similarly, in letters that reflect the closeness and intimacy of her relationship with Catherine Talbot, she describes herself as \u2018as perfect a Hamadryad as you can possibly be\u2019, and a \u2018pastoral nymph\u2019, \u2018lolling on a green bank, among roses and honeysuckles\u2019, and later she writes that she has \u2018run wild & led the Life of a wood nymph without any danger of being molested in my Walks\u2026\u2019.[11]<\/a> In a letter from Talbot to Carter congratulating her addressee on her publication in Dodsley\u2019s anthology in 1748, Talbot says that the poem to Walwyn has been \u2018fixed at last under the protection of your Hamadryad in Mr. Dodsley\u2019s laurel-grove\u2019; here the pastoral space is particularly clearly seen as a symbol for the professional space of the published book.[12]<\/a> The nymph is an apt figure through which Carter can express herself, since the mythic character epitomizes both a kinship with nature and a susceptibility to threats of male dominance and invasion. Such imagery is not merely decorative or inertly \u2018classicizing\u2019, but part of a heightened awareness of the borders of safety and respectability in an educated woman\u2019s public life.<\/p>\n Elizabeth Carter, according to her nephew and biographer Montagu Pennington, was \u2018better acquainted with the meanderings of the Peneus, and the course of the Ilyssus, than she was with those of the Thames or Loire\u2019 (Pennington 1807: 11). She knows these rivers so closely, he says, because of her passion for ancient geography. But his remark also adds to the picture of Carter we have seen in her vigorous mountain-climbing as an aerobates<\/em> in Oxfordshire, in her poem to Dr. Walwyn \u2018On his Design of Cutting Down a Shady Walk\u2019, and in her private self-description as a frolicking nymph in letters to her friends. She saw places around her through classical eyes, in a manner that reflected her contested status in the eighteenth century as a learned woman. Far from being unworldly, it was her classical erudition that gave her both fame and a degree of independence; but she was also aware that this fame was being policed, in derogatory remarks or double-handed compliments that reminded her of more typical domestic responsibilities.[13]<\/a> The description of Dr. Walwyn\u2019s grove is, first, a playful poetic exercise to please her friends. An everyday situation is transmuted into the grander vision of Ovidian myth. Yet Carter\u2019s poetic claim of ownership to this \u2018silent Haunt\/ For Contemplation\u2019s Aid\u2019 (7-8) also suggests a deeper assertion of lineage to the classical thinkers she lists. She walks among shades. Antiquity, we might say, is <\/em>that place, that \u2018Shady Walk\u2019, the underworld to which readers and scholars can return \u2013 provided that spaces for its study are preserved from utilitarian claims of profit or cost. Carter\u2019s gendered vision of the grove holds out the promise of a community of erudition. It is a space, at least in her poetry, to which all learned women can return.<\/p>\n \u2013 James Uden (Boston University)[14]<\/a><\/p>\n Boswell, J. 1887 [1791]. The Life of Samuel Johnson <\/em>(ed. G.B. Hill). 6 vols. New York: Harper.<\/p>\n Carter, E. 1762. Poems on Several Occasions. <\/em>London.<\/p>\n Clery, E.J. 2004. The Feminization Debate in Eighteenth-Century England: Literature, Commerce and Luxury. <\/em>Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.<\/p>\n Dodsley, R. 1748. A Collection of Poems in Three Volumes. By Several Hands. <\/em>London.<\/p>\n Freeman, L.A. 1999. \u201c\u2018A Dialogue\u2019: Elizabeth Carter\u2019s Passion for the Female Mind\u201d. In Armstrong & V. Blain (eds) Women\u2019s Poetry in the Enlightenment. <\/em>London: Palgrave.<\/p>\n Hampshire, G. 2005. Elizabeth Carter, 1717-1806: An Edition of Some Unpublished Letters. <\/em>Newark: University of Delaware Press.<\/p>\n Hawley, J. 1999. Bluestocking Feminism: Writings of the Bluestocking Circle, 1738-1785. <\/em>Vol 2. London: Pickering & Chatto.<\/p>\n Hunt, A. 2016. Reviving Roman Religion: Sacred Trees in the Roman World. <\/em> Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.<\/p>\n Lee, A.W. 2011. \u201cWho\u2019s Mentoring Whom? Mentorship, Alliance, and Rivalry in the Carter-Johnson Relationship\u201d. In A.W. Lee (ed) Mentoring in Eighteenth-Century British Literature and Culture. <\/em>Burlington & Surrey: Ashgate. 191-210.<\/p>\n Miller, N. 1982. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. <\/em>New York: George Braziller.<\/p>\n Pennington, M. 1807. Memoirs of the Life of Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. <\/em>London.<\/p>\n \u2014\u2014\u2014. 1809. A Series of Letters from Mrs. Elizabeth Carter and Miss Catherine Talbot. <\/em>4 vols. London.<\/p>\n Pickard, R. 1998. \u201cEnvironmentalism and \u2018Best Husbandry\u2019: Cutting Down Trees in Augustan Poetry\u201d. Lumen <\/em>17: 103-26.<\/p>\n Ronnick, M.V. 1995. \u201cEpictetus\u2019 Liberation of Elizabeth Carter\u201d. Res Publica Litterarum <\/em>18: 169-71.<\/em><\/p>\n Thomas, R. F. 1988. \u201cTree Violation and Ambivalence in Virgil\u201d. Transactions of the American Philological Association <\/em>118: 261-73.<\/p>\n Wallace, J. 2003. \u201cConfined and Exposed: Elizabeth Carter\u2019s Classical Translations\u201d. Tulsa Studies in Women\u2019s Literature <\/em>22: 315-34.<\/p>\n Williams, C.D. 1996. \u201cPoetry, Pudding, and Epictetus: The Consistency of Elizabeth Carter\u201d. In A. Ribeiro & J.G. Basker (eds) Tradition in Transition: Women Writers, Marginal Texts, and the Eighteenth-Century Canon<\/em>. Oxford: Clarendon \u00a0\u00a0 Press. 3-24.<\/p>\n Wilson, P. 2012. \u201cWomen Writers and the Classics\u201d. In D. Hopkins and C. Martindale (eds) The Oxford History of Classical Reception in English Literature. <\/em>Vol. 3.Oxford: Oxford University Press. 495-518.<\/p>\n [1]<\/a> The letter is printed in Hampshire (2005: 68-9). In an earlier letter to the same addressee (Hannah Underdown), she describes being introduced to a group of intellectuals at the house of the mathematician Thomas Wright, and comments: \u2018Tis well if among all these Conjurors I do not turn witch, tho\u2019 I believe you will think I have no great Capacity that way\u2019 (Hampshire 2005: 43).<\/p>\n [2]<\/a> This is at least according to the account of her nephew, Montagu Pennington, in his Memoirs <\/em>of his late aunt (1807: 15). She describes her daily routine in much more tongue-in-cheek terms in a letter to her friend Catherine Talbot preserved by Pennington (1807: 90-3).<\/p>\n [3]<\/a> Carter (1762: 25-6) [= Hawley 1999: 353-4], on which see Williams (1996: 9-15), Ronnick (1995: 170); Freeman (1999).<\/p>\n [4]<\/a> The poem was first published under the title \u2018To a GENTLEMAN, On his Intending to cut down a GROVE, to enlarge his Prospect\u2019 in Dodsley\u2019s anthology A Collection of Poems. By Several Hands <\/em>(1748: 328-30). Then it was republished, with changes in punctuation and two minor changes in wording, under the title \u2018To \u00be. On his Design of cutting down a SHADY WALK\u2019 in Carter\u2019s own collection, Poems on Several Occasions <\/em>(1762: 39-41) [= Hawley 1999: 358-9], which is the text used here.<\/p>\n [5]<\/a> Pennington (1807: 383); the letter from Carter to Talbot is at Pennington (1809, vol 1: 108). Pickard (1998: 113-7), in the only detailed scholarly analysis of the poem, argues that its \u2018outmoded personifications\u2019 are the reason for its failure to save the trees. This misunderstands both author and poem. Wilson (2012: 512-3) mentions the poem\u2019s wit and classical allusions as an exception to the sober, Stoic translations for which Carter was better known.<\/p>\n [6]<\/a> Servius, on Eclogues <\/em>10.62, quoted by Hunt (2016: 192), who stresses the lack of consensus in classical sources about the exact nature of hamadryads.<\/p>\n [7]<\/a> The letter is at Hampshire (2005: 44-5); on the aesthetics of Pope\u2019s garden design, see Miller (1982: 77-85). On the relationship between Carter and Johnson, see Lee (2011); Clery (2004: 75) postulates that Johnson was using Carter as \u2018bait in his own meditated challenge to Pope\u2019s ascendancy\u2019.<\/p>\n [8]<\/a> The Gentleman\u2019s Magazine, <\/em>July 1738, p. 372, with my translation.<\/p>\n [9]<\/a> The Gentleman\u2019s Magazine, <\/em>August 1738, p. 429.<\/p>\n [10]<\/a> The Gentleman\u2019s Magazine, <\/em>August 1738, p.429, with my translation.<\/p>\n [11]<\/a> Pennington (1808, vol.1: 66, 211); Hampshire (2005: 136). On these passages, see also Pickard (1998: 114).<\/p>\n [12]<\/a> Pennington (1808, vol.1: 253). For the reference to Dodsley, see endnote 4 above.<\/p>\n [13]<\/a> To quote only the most famous, Johnson later condescendingly quipped that Carter could \u2018make a pudding as well as translate Epictetus\u2019 (Boswell 1887, vol. 1: 142); and another man claimed that he would only subscribe to a woman\u2019s translation of Epictetus if it were in fact a \u2018treatise of \u0153conomy for the use of the ladies\u2019 (Pennington 1807: 143).<\/p>\n
\nThe sadly sighing Breeze,
\nA weeping Hamadryad mourn\u2019d
\nHer Fate-devoted Trees.<\/p>\n
\nNor violate the Shade,
\nWhere Nature form\u2019d a silent Haunt
\nFor Contemplation\u2019s Aid.<\/p>\n
\nWhere learned Isis <\/em>flows, (10)
\nForget that nurs\u2019d in shelt\u2019ring Groves
\nThe Grecian <\/em>Genius rose.<\/p>\n
\nImmortal Plato <\/em>taught:
\nAnd fair Lyceum <\/em>form\u2019d the Depth (15)
\nOf Aristotle\u2019s <\/em>Thought.<\/p>\n
\nAnd bless the Tuscan <\/em>Gloom:
\nWhere Eloquence <\/em>deplor\u2019d the Fate
\nOf Liberty and Rome. <\/em>(20)<\/p>\n
\nFrom each inspiring Bough,
\nThe Muses wove unfading Wreaths,
\nTo circle Virgil\u2019s <\/em>Brow.<\/p>\n
\nMy threatened Doom has wrought:
\nNor sacrifice to sensual Taste
\nThe nobler Growth of Thought.<\/p>\n
\nOn India\u2019s <\/em>sunny Coast, (30)
\nCan recompense thee for the Worth
\nOf one Idea lost.<\/p>\n
\nUnknown to solar Fire:
\nAnd what excludes Apollo<\/em>\u2019s Rays, (35)
\nShall harmonize his Lyre.<\/p>\n
\nEn avida lauros carpit<\/em> Elisa manu. <\/em><\/span>
\nNil opus est furto. Lauros tibi, dulcis <\/em>Elisa,
\nSi neget optatas <\/em>Popus, Apollo dabit.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n
\nFurtim sacrilega diripuisse manu: <\/em><\/span>
\nIlla petit sedem magis aptam, tempora POPI;<\/em>
\nEt florere negat pauperiore solo. <\/em><\/span><\/p>\nReferences<\/h2>\n
Footnotes<\/h2>\n