WHETHER on Ida's shady brow   Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the Sun, that now   From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair,   Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air   Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,   Beneath the bosom of the sea, Wandering in many a coral grove;   Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

How have you left the ancient love   That bards of old enjoy'd in you! The languid strings do scarcely move,   The sound is forced, the notes are few.