 | Poems by John Godfrey Saxe. Complete in one volume : thirty-fifth edition |  |
The Muses once,—so sacred myths declare,—
(See classic Keightly, Cruzer, or Lempriere,)—
On cleft Parnassus held a lofty seat,
Where, in the quiet of their calm retreat,
With sweet accord they spent the rosy hours,
And wove bright garlands of perennial flowers;
Nine blooming sisters, each with separate aim,
Yet all rejoicing in the common fame,
Alone attentive to their high behests,
No jealous cares disturbed their tender breasts,
For Phœbus, watchful of the sacred Nine,
Warned off intruders with a magic sign!—
You've seen the like in Lowell mills, where scores,
In gold or ochre, guard the inner doors;
A frequent sight in any factory town,
Where idle cit, or curious country clown,
Reads, at a glance, in letters large and clear,
The startling caution,—‘No admittance here!’
(See classic Keightly, Cruzer, or Lempriere,)—
On cleft Parnassus held a lofty seat,
Where, in the quiet of their calm retreat,
With sweet accord they spent the rosy hours,
And wove bright garlands of perennial flowers;
Nine blooming sisters, each with separate aim,
Yet all rejoicing in the common fame,
Alone attentive to their high behests,
No jealous cares disturbed their tender breasts,
For Phœbus, watchful of the sacred Nine,
Warned off intruders with a magic sign!—
You've seen the like in Lowell mills, where scores,
In gold or ochre, guard the inner doors;
A frequent sight in any factory town,
Where idle cit, or curious country clown,
Reads, at a glance, in letters large and clear,
The startling caution,—‘No admittance here!’
What amorous bard, the hidden Nine to view,
First scaled the wall, or forced a passage through,—
What ‘gay Lothario’ found at length a way
To win the maids and lead them all astray,—
Is yet unknown:—this only can be told,
Some curst intruder broke Apollo's fold,
And all-remorseless for the grave abuse,
In Phœbus' spite let all the Muses loose!
Far from their old Parnassian groves to roam,—
To grace, instead, some airy garret-home,
(Where, free from bailiffs, poetasters rhyme,
And, thankless, waste their tapers and their time,
While through the night they fondly toil for naught,
Angling in inkstands for some gudgeon-thought).
Nor this the worst that sprang from such a cause.
Released at once from chaste Diana's laws,
All moral canons eager now to waive,
Save only those that wanton Nature gave,
The Nine are grown a thousand!—and the Earth
Hails every morning yet another birth!
First scaled the wall, or forced a passage through,—
102
To win the maids and lead them all astray,—
Is yet unknown:—this only can be told,
Some curst intruder broke Apollo's fold,
And all-remorseless for the grave abuse,
In Phœbus' spite let all the Muses loose!
Far from their old Parnassian groves to roam,—
To grace, instead, some airy garret-home,
(Where, free from bailiffs, poetasters rhyme,
And, thankless, waste their tapers and their time,
While through the night they fondly toil for naught,
Angling in inkstands for some gudgeon-thought).
Nor this the worst that sprang from such a cause.
Released at once from chaste Diana's laws,
All moral canons eager now to waive,
Save only those that wanton Nature gave,
The Nine are grown a thousand!—and the Earth
Hails every morning yet another birth!
| Poems by John Godfrey Saxe. Complete in one volume : thirty-fifth edition | |