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The tenour of thy lay: To her of old by jove was giv'n To judge the various deeds of earth and heav'n ; 'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway.

Oft as from stricter hours resign’d
I quit the maze where science toils,
Do thou refresh my yielding mind
With all thy gay, delusive spoils.
But, О indulgent, come not nigh
The busy steps, the jealous eye
Of gainful care, and wealthy age,
Whose barren souls thy joys disdain,
And hold as foes to reason's reign
Whome'er thy lovely haunts ingage.

With me, when mirth's consenting band
Around fair friendship’s genial board
Invite the heart-awakening hand,
With me salute the Teian chord.
Or if invok'd at softer hours,
O seek with me the happy bow'rs
That hear drone's gentle tongue ; link'd with virtue's train,
To love devoid of jealous pain,
There let the Sapphic lute be strung.

But when from envy and from death to claim
A hero bleeding for his native land;
Or when to nourish freedom's veftal flame,
I hear my Genius utter his command,

Nor Thebian voice, nor Lesbian lyre
From thee, O Muse, do I require,

While my prophetic mind,
Conscious of pow’rs she never knew,
Aftonish'd grasps at things beyond her view,
Nor by another's fate hath felt her own confin'd.

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