To high Parnassus' shady seat,

The muses ever green retreat;

To Helicon's smooth-gliding stream,

A beauteous guest, Celinda, came.

She came; and as she pass'd along,

Amazement seiz'd the tuneful throng:

E'en Phœbus, he whose piercing eye

Can all the wide creation spy,

Confess'd, the wide creation o'er,

He ne'er saw one so bright before:

E'en when in Thetis' mirrour clear

His own reflected beams appear.

And now the nymph with graceful air,

Thus to each muse address'd her pray'r.

She spoke — and silence reign'd around;

The winds forgot their murm'ring sound:

The list'ning birds forgot their song;

The streams the painted meads among

In mute attention ceas'd to glide;

And Aganippe stopt its tide:

Hear me, ye sacred nine, she said,

(So may your laurels never fade)

Hear me the pleasing cause relate,

Why thus I sought your blissful seat.

Look here (and then a book she show'd,

That rich with purple binding glow'd)

This Book, O muses, 'tis my will

That you with poetry should fill.

With joy the present I'll receive;

The present you alone can give.

She said, the willing nine obey,

And each their proper tribute pay:

Melpomene gave elegy,

The loftier ode Calliope;

Thalia offer'd pastoral:

The nymph with smiles accepts them all.

But Cupid, who, where-e'er she came,

Incognito pursu'd the dame;

Sudden reveal'd himself to light:

Celinda started at the sight.

Muses, to me restore the book,

Inrag'd he cry'd, with threat'ning look:

No poetry shall here be seen,

But what is wrote by Cupid's pen:

The fair no incense shou'd receive,

But that which suppliant lovers give:

To fill this book is Venus' care;

What business have the muses here?

To fill this book! not thousands more

Cou'd e're contain the endless store

Of praises, which her merits claim,

And Love cou'd write on such a theme.