Sweet as the melody of swans,—that lave
Their rustling pennons in the silver wave.
Of the harmonious lay the Muse is sovereign still:
Then let the minstrel follow, if he will—
But not precede: whose stricter care should be,
And more appropriate aim,
To fan the lawless flame
Of fiery youths, and lead them on
To deeds of drunkenness alone,
The minister of revelry—