But ye! who with my lay have wandered on, 505
That lay is spent, the pilgrim’s shrine is won.
Not now, not now, beside Castalia’s streams,
I ask a fabled muse to aid my dreams,
Or spread on poesy’s too frolic gale
The varied woof of fancy’s tissued sail, 515
Or bid the star-led bark of fairy land,
Glide in wild music, from the lonely strand.
In Nature’s praise I frame the simple lay,
Through her delightful paths in freedom stray;