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Andrew Lang - Ballade Of The Muse
Work rating: Low

The man whom once, Melpomene,
Thou look`st on with benignant sight,
Shall never at the Isthmus be
A boxer eminent in fight,
Nor fares he foremost in the flight
Of Grecian cars to victory,
Nor goes with Delian laurels dight,
The man thou lov`st, Melpomene!

Not him the Capitol shall see,
As who hath crush`d the threats and might
Of monarchs, march triumphantly;
But Fame shall crown him, in his right
Of all the Roman lyre that smite
The first; so woods of Tivoli
Proclaim him, so her waters bright,
The man thou lov`st, Melpomene!

The sons of queenly Rome count ME,
Me too, with them whose chants delight, -
The poets` kindly company;
Now broken is the tooth of spite,
But thou, that temperest aright
The golden lyre, all, all to thee
He owes--life, fame, and fortune`s height -
The man thou lov`st, Melpomene!

ENVOY.

Queen, that to mute lips could`st unite
The wild swan`s dying melody!
Thy gifts, ah! how shall he requite -
The man thou lov`st, Melpomene?
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