J. G. W. Capricious is the Muse; no certain way She holds directed by the will of man, But ever seeks in fancy's sportive play Her course by what strange mazy paths she can. Wealth shuns she; scorned are power and place; The eager lover toils for her in vain Whilst suddenly she bends with radiant face And showers on some shy boy her golden rain. He in his turn power, wealth, and place doth leave To muse on life—to watch the changing sky; Till we through him a brighter world perceive, With nobler forms, in inspiration high. Why thus her course, he who is wise may tell: That Fate approves it, be assured well. |