TO THE MUSES

HETHER on Ida's shady brow

Or in the chambers of the East,

The chambers of the Sun, that now

From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair,

Or the green corners of the earth,

Or the blue regions of the air

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,

Beneath the bosom of the sea,

Wandering in many a coral grove;

Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

How have you left the ancient love

That bards of old enjoy'd in you!

The languid strings do scarcely move,

The sound is forced, the notes are few.