Away! nor talk of flow'ry chains,
Of soft distress, and pleasing pains;
But learn this useful truth from me,
That Pleasure dwells with Liberty.

Me, raptur'd, let the Muses lead,
To wander careless o'er the mead;
Or soft repos'd beside the stream,
To taste the wild, poetic dream!

Let glowing fancy paint the scene
Of airy Pindus, ever green;
Around the Delian God, in state,
Let all his tuneful vot'ries wait.

And, see! where Sappho sits alone;
Her flowing robe, her loosen'd zone,
Th' ambrosial scent her locks diffuse,
Distinguish well the Lesbian muse.

A rosy smile o'erspreads her face,
Her mien assumes a softer grace;
She waves her snowy hand and see!
My gentle lyre, she points to thee.

She takes, she tunes, my trembling lyre,
And swelling, lo! the notes aspire!
She strikes the chords, and all around
List'ning echoes drink the sound.

But, ah! how treach'rous does she prove,
She sets the yielding strings to love;
And now alas! my rebel lyre
Will only sound to soft desire.