Disciple of the bright Aonian Maid
In thy life’s blossom, a resistless spell
Amid the wild, wood, and irriguous dell,
O’er thymy hill, and thro’ illumined glade,
Led thee, for her thy votive wreaths to braid,
Where flaunts the musk-rose, and the azure bell
Nods o’er loquacious brook, or silent well.—
Thus woo’d her inspirations, their rapt aid
Liberal she gave; nor only thro’ thy strain
Breath’d their pure spirit, while her charms beguiled
The languid hours of sorrow, and of pain,
But when youth’s tide ran high, and tempting smiled
Circean pleasure, rescuing did she stand,
Broke the enchantress’ cup, and snapt her wand.