Forsook, and hymn'd the gods no more:
Soft love-sick ditties now he sung,
Love touch'd his harp, love tuned his tongue,
Silent his Heliconian lyre,
And love's put out religion's fire.
Homer, of all past bards the prime,
And wonder of all future time,
Whom Jove with wit sublimely blest,
And touch'd with purest fire his breast,
From gods and heroes turn'd away