To the Muses
WHETHER on Ida’s shady brow,Or in the chambers of the East,The chambers of the sun, that nowFrom ancient melody have ceased;
Whether in heaven ye wander fair,Or the green corners of the earth,Or the blue regions of the air,Where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on crystal rocks ye roveBeneath the bosom of the sea,Wandering in many a coral grove,—Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;
How have you left the ancient loveThat bards of old enjoyed in you!The languid strings do scarcely move,The sound is forced, the notes are few.