Borne lightly upward on the silver surge
To Enna’s flowery verge;—
Spirit august! Child of Mnemosyne!
With reverence and true humility
I break before thy feet my careless flute,
And wait upon my lips thy touch of flame:
Begin, Sicilian Muse! Begin the dirge!
O race unmindful of the Destinies!
The dread Euminides
Or Mœræ old, sent from Earth’s inmost core