Poems to Thespia :: :: University of Virginia Library

Tho I have broke by force the dazzling spell,
No longer by it's bright illusions sway'd,
Tho plunged in action I have bid farewell
To soothing fancy, to each tuneful maid.

Yet at thy call I take a transient view,
And for a moment seek the Muses shrine,
Fresh-blooming chaplets on their altar strew,
To their enchantments deaf, but ruled by thine.

Yes, witness nuptial Love! No other power
Could now evoke the long-forgotten strain,
With glancing sun-beam cheer the clouded hour,
And urge me to their roseate paths again.

With thee I trace each lawn, each meadow green;
Thy voice, is that of reason, science, truth;
With thee I visit each ideal scene,
The rapture-breathing haunts of early youth.

Well-pleased the son of Venus I behold,
Well-pleased behold him aim his thrilling dart,
And generous ardour scorning sordid gold,
And faith ingenuous linking heart to heart.

And adverse fate prepared to break the tye,
But idly-striving with malicious hand,
And perseverance with intrepid eye,
And hope gay-waving her ethereal wand.

And Hymen with a fragrant garland crown'd
By the soft fingers of the graces wove,
Scattering profuse a thousand blessings round,
And holding converse sweet with smiling love.

With smiling love still converse sweet He holds;
To no ideal scenes we need repair,
The muse's hallow'd shrine his wing infolds,
And the Bard offers his just homage there.

His be the chaplets! his the votive lay!
Let others dwell on thoughts of past delight;
He gilds the beams of this auspicious day,
And sheds o'er all the fane his influence bright.

This morn to gratulate, for many a year
May I with joy awake the slumbering lyre!
My numbers which to Thespia first were dear,
Will at their bidding reassume her fire.

I ask not fame, misjudging Croud begone!
The muse ye vilify sings not for you.
She sings for Thespia, and from her alone
Expects the palm to constant passion due.