Ode to Cynthia

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ODE to CYNTHIA. In Imitation of an IDYLLIUM of BION.


SISTER of Phœbus, gentle Queen,
Of aspect mild and brow serene,
Whose friendly beams by night appear
The lonely traveller to cheer;
Attractive Power, whose mighty sway
The ocean's swelling waves obey,
And, mounting upward, seem to raise
A liquid altar to thy praise:
Thee wither'd hags, at midnight hour,
Invoke to their infernal bower.
But I to no such horrid rite,
Sweet Queen, implore thy sacred light,
Nor seek, while all but lovers sleep,
To rob the miser's treasur'd heap:
Thy kindly beams alone impart
To find the youth who stole my heart;
And guide me, from thy silver throne.
To steal his heart, or find my own.