The Pen

O! SEIZE again thy golden quill,
And with its point my bosom thrill;
With magic touch explore my heart,
And bid the tear of passion start.
Thy golden quill APOLLO gave—
Drench'd first in bright Aonia's wave:
He snatch'd it flutt'ring thro' the sky,
Borne on the vapour of a sigh:
It fell from Cupid's burnish'd wing
As forcefully he drew the string
Which sent his keenest, surest dart
Thro' a rebellious frozen heart;
That had till then defy'd his pow'r,
And vacant beat thro' each dull hour.

Be worthy then the sacred loan!
Seated on Fancy's air-built throne,
Immerse it in her rainbow hues,
Nor, what the Godheads bid, refuse!
APOLLO, CUPID, shall inspire,
And aid thee with their blended fire,
The one poetic language give,
The other bid thy passion live;
With soft ideas fill thy lays,
And crown with LOVE thy wint'ry days!