My Goddess

AY, which

Merits the highest reward?

With none contend I,

But I will give

To the aye-changing,

Wondrous daughter of Jove.

His best-beloved offspring.

Sweet Phantasy.

For unto

Hath he

All the fancies which

To none allow'd

Saving himself;

Now he takes his

In the mad one.

She may, crowned with roses,

With staff twined round with lilies,

Roam thro' flow'ry valleys,

Rule the butterfly-people,

And soft-nourishing

With bee-like

Drink from the blossom:

Or else she

With fluttering

And gloomy

Sigh in the

Round rocky cliffs,

And thousand-hued.

Like morn and even.

Ever changing,

Like moonbeam's light,

To mortals appear.

Let us all, then,

Adore the Father!

The old, the mighty,

Who such a

Ne'er-fading

Deigns to

To perishing mortals!

To us

Doth he unite her,

With heavenly bonds,

While he commands her,in joy and sorrow,

As a true

Never to fly us.

All the

Races so

Of life-teeming earth.

In children so rich.

Wander and

In vacant enjoyment,

And 'mid the dark

Of

Restricted life,—Bow'd by the

Yoke of Necessity.

But unto us

Hath his most versatile,

Most cherished

Granted,—what joy!

Lovingly greet

As a beloved one!

Give her the

Place in our home!

And oh, may the

Stepmother

Her gentle

Ne'er seek to harm!

Yet know I her sister,

The older, sedater,

Mine own silent friend;

Oh, may she never,

Till life's lamp is quench'd,

Turn away from me,—That noble inciter,

Comforter,—Hope!