TO THE MUSES

Whether on Ida's shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas'd; Whether in Heav'n 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 enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move, The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!

O antique fables! beautiful and bright And joyous with the joyous youth of yore; O antique fables! for a little light Of that which shineth in you evermore, To cleanse the dimness from our weary eyes, And bathe our old world with a new surprise Of golden dawn entrancing sea and shore.