Robert Treat Paine (1773–1811)

SAY, child of Phœbus and the eldest Grace,

Whose lyre melodious, and enchanting face,

The blended title of thy birth proclaim;

Say, lovely Naiad of Castalia’s streams,

Why thus thy Muse on Fiction’s pillow dreams,

And fondly wooes the rainbow-mantled Dame?

When stern Misfortune, with her Gorgon frown,

Congeals the fairy face of Bliss to stone,

Hope to the horns of Fancy’s altar flies;

But what gay nun would seek asylum there,

When Beauty, Love, and Fortune crown the fair,

And Hymen’s temple greets her raptured eyes?

Then haste, sweet Nymph, to bless the ardent youth;

Then, Fancy, “blush to be excelled by Truth.”