Sweet eyes, that aim a level shaft
At pleasure flying from afar,
Sweet lips, just parted for a draught
Of Hebe's nectar, shall I mar
By stress of disciplinary craft
The joys that in your freedom are?

Shall the bright Queen who rules the tide
Now forward thrown, now bridled back,
Smile o'er each answering smile, then hide
Her grandeur in the transient rack,
And yield her power, and veil her pride,
And move along a ruffled track:

And shall not I give jest for jest,
Though king of fancy all the while,
Catch up your wishes half expressed,
Endure your whimsies void of guile,
Albeit with risk of such unrest
As may disturb, but not defile?

Oh, twine me myrtle round the sword,
Soft wit round wisdom over-keen:
Let me but lead my peers, no lord
With brows high arched; and lofty mien,
Set comrades round my council board
For bold debates, with jousts between.

There quiver lips, there glisten eyes,
There throb young hearts with generous hope;
Thence, playmates, rise for high emprize;
For, though he fail, yet shall ye cope
With worldling wrapped in silken lies,
With pedant, hypocrite, and pope.