Tanagra! think not I forget br Thy beautifully-storey’d streets; br Be sure my memory bathes yet br In clear Thermodon, and yet greets br The blythe and liberal shepherd boy, br Whose sunny bosom swells with joy br When we accept his matted rushes br Upheaved with sylvan fruit; away he bounds, and blushes. br br I promise to bring back with me br What thou with transport wilt receive, br The only proper gift for thee, br Of which no mortal shall bereave br In later times thy mouldering walls, br Until the last old turret falls; br A crown, a crown from Athens won! br A crown no god can wear, beside Latona’s son. br br There may be cities who refuse br To their own child the honours due, br And look ungently on the Muse; br But ever shall those cities rue br The dry, unyielding, niggard breast, br Offering no nourishment, no rest, br To that young head which soon shall rise br Disdainfully, in might and glory, to the skies. br br Sweetly where cavern’d Dirce flows br Do white-arm’d maidens chaunt my lay, br Flapping the while with laurel-rose br The honey-gathering tribes away; br And sweetly, sweetly, Attick tongues br Lisp your Corinna’s early songs; br To her with feet more graceful come br The verses that have dwelt in kindred breasts at home. br br O let thy children lean aslant br Against the tender mother’s knee, br And gaze into her face, and want br To know what magic there can be br In words that urge some eyes to dance, br While others as in holy trance br Look up to heaven; be such my praise! br Why linger? I must haste, or lose the Delphick bays.