Not mine the power to weave the tuneful spell, 530
And draw a spirit from the sounding shell;
No! to my trembling fingers give instead
The oaten stop and simple shepherd’s reed!
I have no muse but Truth;—I ask no art
To write her lessons on the gentle heart; 535
Simple and plain in her own strength she stands,
Nor needs the weak support of human hands.
A granite column, firm and unadorned,
As if the pomp of ornament she scorned;