So sung the poet in a humble strain, With empty pockets, and a head in pain, Where the soft clime inclin'd the soul to rest, And past'ral images inspir'd the breast. Apollo listen'd from his heav'nly bower, And, in his health restor'd, express'd his power. Pygmalion thus before the Paphian shrine, With trembling vows address'd the pow'r divine; Durst hardly make his hopeless wishes known, And scarce a greater miracle was shown -- Returning vigour glow'd in every vein, And gay ideas flutter'd in the brain; Back he returns to breathe his native air, And all his first resolves are melted there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BUSINESS REVERSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE FORCE OF LOVE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE BURIED FLOWER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN BRUCE: INTRODUCTION by JOHN BARBOUR CHARITY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD NIMROD: 3 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH TO HENRY WRIGHT, OF MOBBERLEY, ON BUYING THE PICTURE OF F. MALEBRANCHE by JOHN BYROM |