Grant me the Muse, ye gods! whose humble flight
Seeks not the mountain-top's pernicious height:
Who can the tall Parnassian cliff forsake,
To visit oft the still Lethean lake;
Now her slow pinions brush the silent shore,
Now gently skim the unwrinkled waters o'er,
There dips her downy plumes, thence upward flies,
And sheds soft slumbers on her votary's eyes.
More verses by William Cowper
- Love Pure And Fervent
- Horace, Book Ii. Ode Xvi.
- Epigram : To Leonora Singing At Rome 2 (Translated From Milton)
- Lines Addressed To Dr. Darwin, Author Of The 'Botanic Garden.'
- Elegy Iv. Anno Aet. 18. To My Tutor, Thomas Young, Chaplain Of The English Merchants Resident At Hamburg (Translated From Milton)