I.
1.
Goddess of the silver Lyre,
Loftiest of the tuneful Quire,
Thou, whose high exalted Lay
Beams on great Acts a more eternal Day!
Thou, whose sweetly-sounding Song
Pour'd the rapid Stream along,
When, in Numbers truly great,
Pindar, in imperial State,
Rais'd the bold Notes of all thy trembling Strings,
To blazon high the Deeds of Heroes, and of Kings.
2.
Valour, pure and active Fire,
Offspring of an heavenly Flame,
Claims thy Aid, O raptur'd Lyre,
Claims thy Passport unto Fame;
Wisdom, Guardian of the Soul,
Whose dread Command the Passions hush'd obey;
Whose Nod can even their boldest Rage controul,
Wisdom demands thy most majestic Lay;
To inborn Virtue lo!
The Strains spontaneous flow,
Warbling in their Favourite's Praise,
Mix the well-according Lays:
For her, the Soft, the Strong, their Numbers join;
For her, both Ease and Majesty combine,
And blend, like Shade and Light, in Harmony divine.
3.
In distant Ages, and in various Climes,
All-ruling Providence with powerful Hand,
Has rais'd some Souls to blaze to future Times,
In Peace to govern, or in War command:
But, prudent, has to each consign'd
But one Perfection of the Mind:
Some shine with Splendor in the bloody Field,
Grasp the strong Lance, or wave the gleamy Shield:
Others, whom milder Arts adorn,
Deal righteous Laws to Ages yet unborn;
Or, pleas'd the Paths of Science to explore,
To them has Nature op'd her ample Store:
Others, inspir'd by Truth's un-erring Ray,
In their own Breasts behold unclouded Day;
Theirs is the peaceful Bliss, the Joy refin'd,
Calm Innocence is theirs, the Sunshine of the Mind.
