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ODE VI.
ODE VI.
On the Absence of the Poetic
Inclination.
QUEEN of my songs, harmonious maid,
Why, why hast thou withdrawn thy aid?
Why thus forsook my widow'd breast,
With dark infeebling damps oppress'd?
Where is the bold prophetic heat,
With which my bosom wont to beat?
Where all the bright mysterious dreams
Of haunted shades and tuneful streams,
That woo'd my Genius to divinest themes?
Say, can the purple charms of wine,
Or young Dione's form divine,
Or flatt'ring scenes of promis'd fame
Relume thy faint, thy dying flame?
Have
