And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own;—
an idea probably caught from Horace’s Ode to Melpomene:—
Totum muneris hoc tui est,
Quod monstror digito prætereuntium
Romanæ fidicen lyræ:
Quod spiro, et placeo, si placeo, tuum est.
(That I am pointed out by the fingers of passers-by as the stringer of the Roman lyre, is entirely thy gift: that I breathe and give pleasure, if I do give pleasure, is thine.)
Now, by those stars that glance
O’er Heaven’s still expanse,