Ye train Pierian! to the lunar sphere,
In silent hour address your ardent call
For aid immortal; less her brother’s right.
She, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads 40
The mazy dance, and hears their matchless strain;
A strain for gods, denied to mortal ear.
Transmit it heard, thou silver Queen of Heaven!
What title, or what name, endears thee most?
Cynthia! Cyllene! Phœbe!—or dost hear
With higher gust, fair P——d of the skies?