The Muses fear not, but with heart-love true,
Affect wild Eros, and his steps pursue.
And if one sings, with cold and loveless heart,
They shun him, and will never teach their art.
But if one sings Love's agitated thrall,
To him in flowing stream they hasten all.
Of this myself am proof; for whensoe'er
For some Immortal else, or mortal here
I would the glowing path of song explore,
Stammers my tongue, and sings not as before!
But glad and gushing flows the strain from me,
Whene'er I sing of Love or Clymene.