To the Muses
AVAUNT ! ye Nine; no more I sue For your capricious aid, Since you could thus its power deny To an invoking maid. So fair a vot'ry ne'er before Had breath'd Parnassian air, Nor did Castalia's boasted stream E'er show a form so fair. To see your shrine so highly grac'd, Quickly inflam'd your pride; Confusion reign'd throughout the hill, And you the suit denied. Mournful Melpomene declin'd Her tearful aid to lend; And sage Historic Clio's brow No fav'ring smiles unbend. When chearful Thalia, stepping forth, Cry'd "Sisters, why so shy? "If fair Eliza will accept "My aid, her muse, am I."
English Poetry - http://www.eng-poetry.ru/english/index.php. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org