You, the choice minions of the proud-lipped nine br Who warble at the great Apollo's knee, br Why do you laugh at these rude lays of mine? br I seek not of your brotherhood to be: br I do not play the public swan, nor try br To curve my proud neck on your vocal streams. br In my own little isle retreated, I br Lost myself in my waters and my dreams: br Forgetful of the world, forgotten too, br The cygnet of my own secluded wave br I sing, whilst dashing up their silver dew br For joy, the petty billows try to rave: br There is a still applause in solitude, br Fitting alike my merits and my mood.