As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom’s aid,
Why, goddess, why to us denied,
Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that lov’d Athenian bower,
You learn’d an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d,
Can well recall what then it heard.