Nor less prevailing is their charm The vengeful bosom to disarm; To melt the proud with human woe, And prompt unwilling tears to flow. Can wealth a power like this afford? Can Cromwell's arts or Marlborough's sword, An equal empire claim? No, Hastings. Thou my words wilt own: Thy breast the gifts of every Muse hath known; Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name. I.--3. The Muse's awful art, And the blest function of the poet's tongue, Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour; to assert From all that scorned vice or slavish fear hath sung. Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower; Nor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour, Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign. A different strain, And other themes From her prophetic shades and hallow'd streams (Thou well canst witness), meet the purged ear: Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear; To hear the sweet instructress tell (While men and heroes throng'd around) How life its noblest use may find, How well for freedom be resign'd; And how, by glory, virtue shall be crown'd. II.--1. Such was the Chian father's strain To many a kind domestic train, Whose pious hearth and genial bowl Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul: When, every hospitable rite With equal bounty to requite, He struck his magic strings, And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, And seized their ears with tales of ancient worth, And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things. II.--2. Now oft, where happy spirits dwell, Where yet he tunes his charming shell, Oft near him, with applauding hands, The Genius of his country stands. To listening gods he makes him known, That man divine, by whom were sown The seeds of Grecian fame: Who first the race with freedom fired; From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspired; From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies came. II.--3.