Come, blue-eyed Maid of Heaven!—but Thou, alas!

Didst never yet one mortal song inspire—

Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was,

And is, despite of War and wasting fire, [1.B.]

And years, that bade thy worship to expire:

But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, [2.B.]

Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire

Of men who never felt the sacred glow

That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow.