Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,

Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel's will!

Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,

Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:

Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill;

Yes! sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine

Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;

Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine

To grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of mine.