Angels and Lyres

Fair Angels of Parnassus, Muses Nine, That on its snowy summit gay recline With other gods, are haply the cynosure Of poets whom inspires your sacred ewer, O'erflow'd with the ambrosial Hippocrene, The haunt of daughters of Mnemosyne, And Father Jove who loves these nymphets most, And of that gelid crest th’ immortal host. Apollo, son of Jove, gives company To your glad song of heaven’s euphony; There to his lyre flourish unfetter'd throats That bear the truest art through truest notes. When sing ye graceful goddesses amidst The brood of Saturn’s mighty son in feasts, May gladden the heart of children of the plain As well who in summer nights hearken you fain. I heard that music mild betwixt the glades, ‘Twixt valleys old till with the breeze it fades, Amongst the rustling youthful Aspen leaves, From bough to bough its tender beauty weaves. On warbler’s throat ye happy strains do pour, Above the groves as o’er the mountain soar They with their pinions unweary and suave, Dispenser of all art ye fain observe. 4th April, 2017