Golden Apollo， that thro' heaven wide

    Scatter¹'st the rays of light， and truth's beams，

    In lucent words my darkling verses dight，

    And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams，

    That wisdom may descend² in fairy dreams，

    All while the jocund³ hours in thy train

    Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet；

    And when thou yields to night thy wide domain⁴，

    Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.

    For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay⁵

    With tinkling⁶ sounds to dash thy nervous verse，

    Sound without sense； yet in his rude affray，

    （For ignorance is Folly⁷'s leasing nurse

    And love of Folly needs none other's curse）

    Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd ears，

    For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse

    To sit in council with his modern peers，

    And judge of tinkling rimes and elegances⁸ terse⁹.

    And thou， Mercurius， that with wingèd brow

    Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky，

    And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw，

    Entering with holy feet to where on high

    Jove weighs the counsel of futurity；

    Then， laden¹⁰ with eternal fate， dost go

    Down， like a falling star， from autumn sky，

    And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly：

    If thou arrivest at the sandy shore

    Where nought¹¹ but envious¹² hissing¹³ adders¹⁴ dwell，

    Thy golden rod， thrown on the dusty floor，

    Can charm to harmony with potent¹⁵ spell.

    Such is sweet Eloquence¹⁶， that does dispel¹⁷

    Envy and Hate that thirst for human gore¹⁸；

    And cause in sweet society to dwell

    Vile¹⁹ savage²⁰ minds that lurk²¹ in lonely cell

    O Mercury， assist my lab'ring sense

    That round the circle of the world would fly，

    As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence

    Of Alpine²² hills round his high a？ry，

    And searches thro' the corners of the sky，

    Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound，

    And see the wingèd lightnings as they fly；

    Then， bosom²³'d in an amber²⁴ cloud， around

    Plumes²⁵ his wide wings， and seeks Sol's palace high.

    And thou， O warrior²⁶ maid invincible²⁷，

    Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty²⁸ Jove，

    Pallas， Minerva， maiden²⁹ terrible，

    Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove³⁰，

    In solemn gloom of branches interwove？

    Or bear'st thy AEgis³¹ o'er the burning field，

    Where， like the sea， the waves of battle move？

    Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld³²

    The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove？

    Or does th' afflicted³³ man thy heav'nly bosom move？

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