FAIN would I sing in Epic lays,
Fain would I echo Cadmus' praise.
My lyre, alas, upon its strings
Of naught but love persistent rings!
My lyre and all its strings I changed,
O'er every chord my fingers ranged,
As I essayed Alcides' toil;
But answered back in wild turmoil
My lyre in strains of love.
Farewell, my heroes, - farewell, kings;
Of love alone my lyre still sings.