University of Virginia Library

To my Muse,

On making a vain effort to write on a given subject.

I swear it by Parnassus mount,
By Hippocranes' inspiring fount;
By waters of Acidalus,
By sacred streams of Illysus;
By Helicon,—Castalian rill,
By Aganippe,—Pindus' hill;
Apollo's laurel, and his lyre,
Melpom'ne's tears,—Thalia's fire!
By wise Minerva's sagest owl,
By Royal Juno's sacred fowl;
By Cupid's bow,—and brother Loves,
By Venus' cestus,—and her doves;
By cup of Ganymede and Hebe,
By brighest beam of silver Phœbe;
By Ida's love-inspiring air,
Nay, by thy ingrate self I swear;
Ne'er from this moment to implore
Thy aid or inspiration more;
Nor sacrifice my youth's short day,
In begging a poetic lay;
Or wit to scribble song or sonnet,
When I should trim a cap or bonnet:
Entreat a spark of attic fire,
To animate my languid lyre,
When I, as in my sex befitting,
Should take my work or mind my knitting!
For thee what have I not endur'd,
To scoffs, and taunts, and sneers inur'd;
By misses for thy favours maul'd,
By masters “learned lady” call'd!
By all avoided, lest my bite
Should set the simple things to write;
Whilst thou malignant more than they,
Hath some eccentric notion gay
Shot 'thwart my fancy—nay, I swear,
E'en in the sacred house of prayer,
I gladly seize it, thoughtless wight,
Forgot I came to pray, not write,
And in my prayer-book self indite!
While from my lips unconscious fall,
Nor sainted Peter, James, nor Paul;
But mount Parnassus, muses, fire,
Apollo, wit, Ionian choir;
Invoke no canonized maid,
But Yorick's or Cervantes shade!
Quick shrinks each pious soul away,
While sacred horror and dismay,
Each eye devout as quick invade,
Cast on the sacriligious maid;
And tho' she pray with might and main,
Alas! she finds contrition vain;
Nor credit gains from pious dame,
That you, sad Muse, not she's to blame;
Nor is this all, for oft with spleen
Thou'st darted on me, when I've been
In solemn convocation seated
'Midst female sages, who grave treated
On sermons, prudence, faith, and prayer,
Salves, conserves, silks, and china-ware!
Now flirting girls frail conduct chiding,
And now the price of lace deciding;
Now giving script'ral expositions,
Now quoting tradesmen's impositions!
Now on blest charity declaim,
And now traduce a neighbour's fame;
While as I solemn, prim, demure,
List' with attention to be sure,
Pop come you with poetic freak,
And on my prim attention break;
Breathe fire thro' the torpid creature,
And animate each cold, fix'd feature!
I start, look up, then seize a pen,
Write, smile, gaze round, and write again;
Then realize the golden thought,
And with enthusiasm fraught,
Io Triumphe—there's a line
Will speak me favoured by the Nine!
With look ecstatic I exclaim,
And strike amaz'd each frigid dame;
O'erwhelmed with fear and consternation,
Straight they convene a consultation;
Of grandmamas and spinster cousins,
Step-sisters, maiden aunts in dozens;
With broken sentence, nod, and leer,
“Where more is meant than meets the ear,”
In whispers they converse and shew it,
The poor thing's mad, or worse, turn'd poet;
Then vow they'd pardon any crime,
In their own girls but love of rhyme,
Which should it epidemic prove,
Might well affect all those they love;
And spreading quick the cautioning rumour,
To exile from their presence doom her!
Yet all these evils I sustain'd,
Of persecution ne'er complain'd,
As long as thou wouldst kindly pay
A visit in a friendly way:
Tho' sans regard to place or station,
Thou gavest a freakish visitation,
I gladly struck the willing lyre,
And blest the Muse that did inspire;
Forgot time, person, situation,
And felt alone thy inspiration;
To thee devoted without number;
Soft moments stole from midnight slumber!
From youthful sports and youthful joys,
From toilette, trinkets, dress, and toys;
Nay, the dear short-liv'd teens best treasure,
Their gay propensity to pleasure,
To thee I sacrificed, and yet
You all these services forget,
Reject my warm poetic prayer,
Disperse my sighs “in empty air;”
Reject my incense, and despise
The votive off'rings I devise!
On my best invocation frown,
Nor with success one effort crown.
Hence then,—I've sworn it from this hour,
No more to own thy sov'reign power;
With all thy attributes to part,
The phrenzied glance, poetic start,
The pensive brow and flashing eye,
The look of thought, unconscious sigh;
The smile enlivening haply brought,
By some rich new-awaken'd thought;
The sudden flush of animation,
Insignia of thy inspiration,
Forswear book, paper, ink and pen,
Until!—thou smil'st on me again!