University of Virginia Library

Once more, not uninspir'd, the string
I waken, and spontaneous sing:
No Pythic laurel-wreath I claim,
That lifts ambition into fame:
My voice unbidden tunes the lay;
Some god impels and I obey.
Attend, ye groves! the muse prepares
A sacred song in Phrygian airs;
Such as the swan expiring sings,
Melodious, by Cayster's springs,
Where listening winds in silence hear,
And to the gods the music bear.
Celestial muse! attend and bring
Thy aid, while I thy Phœbus sing;
To Phœbus and the muse belong
The laurel, lyre, and Delphic song.
Begin, begin the lofty strain!
How Phœbus lov'd, but lov'd in vain!
How Daphne fled his guilty flame,
And scorn'd a god that offer'd shame.
With glorious pride his vows she hears,
And heaven, indulgent for her prayers,
To laurel chang'd the nymphs, and gave
Her foliage to reward the brave.
Ah! how, on wings of love convey'd,
He flew to clasp the panting maid!
Now, now o'ertakes! but heaven deceives
His hope—he seizes only leaves.
Why burns my raptur'd breast? ah! why?
Ah! whither strives my soul to fly?
I feel pleasing frenzy strong,
Impulsive to some nobler song:
Let, let the wanton fancy play,
But guide it, lest it devious stray.
But, O! in vain—my muse denies
Her aid, a slave to lovely eyes;
Suffice it to rehearse the pains
Of bleeding nymphs and dying swains;
Nor dare to wield the shafts of love
That wound the gods, and conquer Jove.
I yield! Adieu the lofty strain!
Anacreon is himself again:
Again the melting song I play,
Attemper'd to the vocal lay.
See! see! how, with attentive ears,
The youths imbibe the nectar'd airs!
And quaff, in bowery shades reclin'd,
My precepts, to regale the mind.