Chanted the high response in strains divine,—
And oped the secret springs,—and taught to know
The heav'n-drawn truths, in holy rapture lost.
But nought avail'd her zeal;—in evil hour,
Theme of the lyre below, her hopes were cross'd:
Death cropp'd the stalk, that bore so fair a flow'r.
III.
I tell thee too, that the Bœotian bard,
Sage Hesiod, quitted the Cumæan shore,
A wand'rer not unwilling,—afterward