Odes, Ode VIII

Away! nor talk of flow'ry Chains, Of dear Distress, and pleasing Pains; But learn this useful Truth from me, That Pleasure dwells with Liberty.

Me, let the vagrant 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 Servants wait.

And see! where Sappho sits alone! Her flowing Robe, her loosen'd Zone, Th' ambrosial Scents her Locks diffuse, Distinguish well the Lesbian Muse.

A rosy Smile o'erspreads her Face, Her Mein assumes a sweeter Grace; She waves her snowy Hand, and see! My gentle Lyre, she points to thee!

She takes, she tries my trembling Lyre, And swelling, Lo! the Notes aspire! She strikes the Strings, and all around Listening Echoes catch the Sound.

Ah! could the raptur'd Maid impart To me her sweet harmonious Art, The silver Nine , in softest Strain, Shou'd hear my warbling Lute complain.