ELEGY IV. The MUSE.
Farewel the transports of harmonious verse!
No more I sing of shepherds' happy loves;
No more each blossom's virtues I rehearse,
Or cull gay wreath's in Fancy's fertile groves.
Farewel the transports of the tuneful Muse!
My woes appear in ev'ry drooping lay:
If other subjects for my verse I chuse,
A love-lorn sigh wafts ev'ry thought away.
Awake, my Muse! shake off desponding Care;
On high Parnassus seek immortal fame:
In epic verse a lasting work prepare,
May place with Maro's my yet humble name!
Let trumpets sonorous bellow in the strain!
Let sanguine War in all its horrors rage!
Cleave heav'n's scar'd vault, and drench the thirsty plain,
While spreading Discord thunders thro' the page.
Sing mighty battles and great derring-does!
Let valiant Henry's conquests be thy choice!
—The vain attempt is blasted by my woes:
Love breathes a sigh dispels the trumpet's voice.
To livelier themes I'll turn my wanton song;
With rosy wreaths luxuriant grapes I'll twine:
To Bacchus' praise my lyricks shall belong;
With Bacchus buxom Venus shall combine.
Tune, tune, my lyre! I'll sing of drunken Mirth!
Let many a cup of mantling wine be quafft!—
—Ah vain essay! my spirits sink to earth:
Love drops a tear, and sours the wanton draught.
Why do my thoughts, their own tormenting foes,
Still turn to thee, my anguish to inflame?
Why does my Muse still ruminate my woes,
Still paint thy charms, still dwell on Delia's name?
Why, when I slumber, does she haunt me still?
Why, when I wake, is Delia still my theme?—
Has not Despair the pow'r Desire to kill?
Or does presumptuous Hope still fan my flame?
Dear cause of my all anguish! yes, my heart
Shall treasure up thy lov'd memorial still:
Tho' ev'ry tender line inflame my smart,
Thy virtuous charms the mournful page shall fill.
