Mindful of its ancient themes,
This faltering tongue shall ne’er refuse,
Oft as I wander by their haunted streams,
To blend each gentle grace and tuneful muse:
O may I dwell among the harmonious choirs,
My brows still circled with a laureate wreath!
Still shall the bard, a hoary veteran, breathe
The strains Mnemosuné inspires:
While memory wakes, I ne’er will cease
Th’ exploits of Hercules to sing;
Where Bromius yields the purple vine’s increase,
Where Libyan pipes and the lute’s sevenfold string
Are heard in dulcet unison; to praise
The Nine who aid the dance, I’ll wake my choral lays.