AVAUNT ! ye Nine; no more I sue
For your capricious aid,
Since you could thus its power deny
To an invoking maid.
So fair a vot’ry ne’er before
Had breath’d Parnassian air,
Nor did Castalia’s boasted stream
E’er show a form so fair.
To see your shrine so highly grac’d,
Quickly inflam’d your pride;
Confusion reign’d throughout the hill,
And you the suit denied.
Mournful Melpomene declin’d
Her tearful aid to lend;
And sage Historic Clio’s brow
No fav’ring smiles unbend.
When chearful Thalia, stepping forth,
Cry’d “Sisters, why so shy?
“If fair Eliza will accept
“My aid, her muse, am I.”
(Margaret Chalmers)
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