Melody II. to Pleasure

Ye hymns that rule the Aeolian lyre To Pleasure homage bear. The song, O Queen, inspire, And with indulgent audience own: If song thy grace or vows atone, Incline thy sovereign ear From thy elysian throne.

The throne thy parent Nature gave, What day her empire rose Of chaos from the grave; Where reigns Desire, thy chosen mate, The Smiles the Loves the Graces wait, And Music's airs disclose The splendors of thy state.

Thee, Goddess, thee adore The great, the wise, the gay, All, all thy blessed laws obey; All, tho' by differing rites, thy gracious aid implore. How enchanting the roseate smile of the Spring When her Morning ascends on ambrosial wing, The winter dispelling and night! More enchanting, Oh empress of every desire! Is thy smile to the soul when the shadows retire Of sorrow before thy fair light.

In gilded domes let others try With eager wishes vain To win thy placid eye; Or sail to either Indian shore To bribe thee with their gathered store; Thy source sincere nor Gain May ever find nor Power.

Thy present suppliant be lent The balmy walks of Health, The fountains of Content, That life's small garden may divide With chearful and with constant tide; So shall his days by stealth In even tenor glide.

Joy has its tears. The reign Of Rapture oft is found To border on the hostile bound Of cruel Agony, and Horror's dark domain. He requires not in triumph to stem the wide deep, But along the safe shore his smooth progress to keep, With thee and Repose by his side. Nor rapid with transport nor silent with woe, Soft and pure let the gale of felicity blow, And Prudence each movement provide.