 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
228
XVIII.
Ample, and vast, and infinitely still,Slants down from the blue crystal of the sky,
Throne of the Muse, the Heliconian hill:
Citheron's frowning crest ascends hard by
With clouds and tempest plagued perpetually:
There walk those feet that fates unblest fulfil:
There tread the avenging Furies: wild and shrill
There rings the victim's shriek, the Mænad's cry.
Poets! let none deceive you; nor confound
Tumult with strength. Then most the Muse is calm,
Singing the strifes of sublunary things:
Steady her hand among the quivering strings:
No sorrow she approves that slights her balm:
Her toils are rest-ennobled, virtue-crowned!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |