562 THE HELICONIAD. 



Erato, 

 Fair-hair'd Erato ! on thy snowy breast 

 Young Cupid loves to gambol, and to rest ; 

 There chooses he thy bosom for his pillow, 

 LuU'd to soft sleep as by a heaving billow. 

 Thou, thou alone inspirest (as a gift) 

 The soul thy smile to Paradise would lift : 

 Smile ! and the freest range that life e'er gave 

 Conducts the soul to bondage as thy slave. 

 Methinks the glare of yon bright star above 

 Illumes the heav'n ; — 'tis lighted up by Love : 

 Truly young Eros burns his torch afar. 

 But dark the soul unlighted by that star ! 

 For here the muse, tho' chaste, delights to halt. 

 And view young Cupid in his star-arch'd vault. 



Observant reader, start not that I call 



By such sepulchral name young Cupid's hall ! 



O say, for ever shall this clay be bound 



Unstir'd, unsought for, 'neath its mother ground ? 



Have Egypt's pyramids resign 'd their dust ? 



Columbia's dead shook off their earthly rust ? 



Shall fair Urania find one mortal soul. 



Deep in the grave, unstirred by Heaven's control ? 



Ah no ! from thence to Heaven the soul will rise. 



And what it lost on earth shall find in Paradise ! 



Gay thoughtful nymph, if thus to speak the mind 

 Were not to give the lie to aught behind, 

 Though in thy gayest hours young Passion's soul 

 Bursts from thy lips, as to a wish'd-for goal. 

 Where it might meet alone some elfin host 

 Of fairy queens — illusion do thy most ! — 

 No treacherous passion lurks beneath your smile. 

 No frantic ravings nature's self beguile. 

 Transferr'd to sentiment, Erato springs. 

 The goddess still, though dipt her flippant wings ; 

 No damsels faint to view her features now. 

 But, half caressing, to the goddess bow : 

 Superflous now beseem arch Cupid's ways, 

 Erato strikes the heart, and deep, with — lyric lays 



Euterpe. 

 Seductive strain, upon thy melting lyre 

 The grovelling thoughts of this gay world expire ! 

 Euterpe, though to mortals thou dost bend 

 In warm, not wanton, love, and condescend. 

 Still gectler spirit, to relieve man's heart. 

 Still dost thou not from thine own realms depart. 

 Thou hailest them from thy divinest throne. 

 As when Aurora first on mortal shone ! 

 Wide and more wide extends the witching strain 

 Where Peace is dancing o'er the happy plain. 

 The soul, in whom the god of love delights. 

 To fairy scene of lyre and love he lights. 

 Gods ! how the glorious strain his soul exalts 

 Who tastes of rapture's feast devoid its faults. 



Polyhymnia. 

 ; Blestwas the age of learning, when it grew 



A part of life itself, and vigour drew 



