Classic Poem

The Muses call! Now, Shell, inspire
If aught, to last this year and more,
Lightly, we two have wrought before; —
Come now, a song like his whose fire

First touched thee, from th' Aonian choir
Catching, thro' camp and tempest's roar,
The Muses' call, —

Singing the Queen of all desire,
Bacchus, and Cupid flutt'ring o'er,
And Lycus: thou, that Phoebus bore,
Dear to Jove's feast — O aid me, Lyre!
The Muses call!