Classic Poem

Once more, not unispir'd the string
I waken, and spontaneous sing.
No Pythick laurel-wreath I claim,
That lifts Ambition into fame:
My voice unbidden tunes the lay;
Some god impels, and I obey.
Listen, ye grove! — The muse prepares
A sacred song, in Phrygian airs,
Such as the swan expiring sings
Melodious by Cayster's springs,
While lift'ning winds in silence hear,
And to the gods the music bear.
Celestial muse! attend, and bring
Thy aid, while I thy Phaebus sing:
To Phaebus and the muse belong
The laurel, lyre, and Delphic song.
Begin, begin, the lofty strain
How Phaebus lov'd, but lov'd in vain;
How Daphne fled his guilty flame,
And scorn'd a god that offer'd shame.
With glorious pride his vows she hears,
And heav'n, indulgent to her pray'rs,
To laurel chang'd the nymph, and gave
Her foliage to reward the brave.
Ah! how on wings of love convey'd
He flew to clasp the panting maid!
Now, now, o'ertakes! — but heaven deceives
His hope — he seizes only leaves.
Why fires my raptur'd breast? ah! why?
Ah! whither strives my soul to fly?
I feel the pleasing frenzy strong,
Impulsive to some nobler song:
Let, let the wanton fancy play,
But guide it, lest it devious stray.
But oh! in vain, my muse denies
Her aid, a slave to lovely eyes.
Suffice it to rehearse the pains
Of bleeding nymphs and dying swains,
Nor dare to wield the shafts of Love
That wound the gods and conquer Jove.
I yield; adieu the lofty strain!
I am Anacreon once again;
Again the melting song I play
Attemper'd to the vocal lay.
See! see! how with attentive ears
The youth imbibe the nectar'd airs,
And quaff, in flow'ry shades reclin'd,
My precepts to regale the mind.