Thespia XXIX: Ye Nymphs! Who o'er these mystic springs preside

Ye Nymphs! Who o'er these mystic springs preside,
Which the laborious search of Art deride,
By whom alone is traced their winding course,
Who know each seed impregnating their source,
And whether chymic heat, or real flame
Preserves their warmth, thro' countless years, the same.
Great is your Virtue, and with praises due
Hygeia oft hath tuned the lyre to You.

But Oh! Ye Chaste-breath'd Harmonies! whose sway,
And gentle impulse Minds select obey;
Who in the softer, purer heart reside,
Each thought refine, and each emotion guide,
Who from that seat expel intruding care,
And bid serene complacence harbour there,
Bid Patience spread her wing, Ethereal Guest,
And charm the sullen passious into rest,
Without your aid, how vain the boasted waves
Would issue from their subterraneous caves!
In vain the Nymphs would cause them still to flow,
Steam in the Bath, or in the Chrystal glow.

Say then my Thespia, shall not I e'erlong,
The blue-ey'd Sisters hail with grateful song?
Who to these streams (no doubt inspired by Heaven)
Such matchless force, and energy have given?
Yes, Pristine Health must soon again be Mine;
For all the mental Harmonies are thine.