Margaret Chalmers

To the Muses

AVAUNT ! ye Nine; no more I sue
    For your capricious aid,
Since you could thus its power deny
    To an invoking maid.
So fair a vot'ry ne'er before
    Had breath'd Parnassian air,
Nor did Castalia's boasted stream
    E'er show a form so fair.
To see your shrine so highly grac'd,
    Quickly inflam'd your pride;
Confusion reign'd throughout the hill,
    And you the suit denied.
Mournful Melpomene declin'd
    Her tearful aid to lend;
And sage Historic Clio's brow
    No fav'ring smiles unbend.
When chearful Thalia, stepping forth,
    Cry'd "Sisters, why so shy?
"If fair Eliza will accept
    "My aid, her muse, am I."