Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose naiads long Have seen thee ling'ring with a fond delay 'Mid those soft friends, whose hearts, some future day, Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song....
As once, if not with light regard, I read aright that gifted bard, (Him whose school above the rest His loveliest Elfin Queen has blest,) One, only one, unrival'd fair, Might hope the magic girdle wear,...
When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,...