Such was the nymph, whom Orpheus led From the dark regions of the dead, Where Charon with his lazy boat Ferries o'er Lethe's sedgy moat; Th' undaunted minstrel smites the strings, His strain through hell's vast concave rings: Cocytus hears the plaintive theme, And refluent turns his pitying stream; Three-headed Cerberus, by fate Posted at Pluto's iron gate, Low-crouching rolls his haggard eyes Ecstatic, and foregoes his prize; With ears erect at hell's wide doors Lies listening, as the songster soars: Thus music charm'd the realms beneath, And beauty triumph'd over death. The bard, whom night's pale regent bore, In secret, on the Athenian shore, Musæus, felt the sacred flame, And burnt for the fair Theban dame Antiope, whom mighty Love Made pregnant by imperial Jove; The poet plied his amorous strain, Press'd the fond fair, nor press'd in vain, For Ceres, who the veil undrew, That screen'd her mysteries from his view, Propitious this kind truth reveal'd, That woman close besieged will yield. Old Hesiod too his native shade Made vocal to th' Ascrean maid; The bard his heav'n-directed lore Forsook, and hymn'd the gods no more: Soft love-sick ditties now he sung, Love touch'd his harp, love tuned his tongue, Silent his Heliconian lyre, And love's put out religion's fire. Homer, of all past bards the prime, And wonder of all future time, Whom Jove with wit sublimely blest, And touch'd with purest fire his breast, From gods and heroes turn'd away To warble the domestic lay, And wand'ring to the desert isle, On whose parch'd sands no seasons smile, In distant Ithaca was seen Chanting the suit-repelling Queen. Mimnermus tuned his amorous lay, When time had turn'd his temples grey; Love revell'd in his aged veins, Soft was his lyre, and sweet his strains; Frequenter of the wanton feast, Nanno his theme, and youth his guest. Antimachus with tender art Pour'd forth the sorrows of his heart; In her Dardanian grave he laid Chryseis his beloved maid; And thence returning, sad beside Pactolus' melancholy tide, To Colophon the minstrel came, Still sighing forth the mournful name, Till lenient time his grief appeased, And tears by long indulgence ceased.