'Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove And Memory divine, Pierian maids, Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life, When hope shone bright and all the prospect smiled, To your sequester'd mansion oft my steps Were turn'd, O Muses, and within your gate My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains 350 Of flowing harmony to soften war's Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm The public eye, to clothe the form austere Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age, Neglected, and supplanted of the hope On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you, To your mild wisdom flies, refuge beloved Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach The visions of my bed whate'er the gods In the rude ages of the world inspired, 360 Or the first heroes acted; ye can make The morning light more gladsome to my sense Than ever it appear'd to active youth Pursuing careless pleasure; ye can give To this long leisure, these unheeded hours, A labour as sublime, as when the sons Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood, To hear pronounced for all their future deeds The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers! I feel that ye are near me: and behold, 370 To meet your energy divine, I bring A high and sacred theme; not less than those Which to the eternal custody of Fame Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent The groves of Haemus or the Chian shore.