They speak of never withering shades And bowers of opening joy, They promise mines of fairy gold And bliss without alloy. They whisper strange enchanting things Within Hope's greedy ears, And sure this tuneful voice exceeds The music of the spheres. They speak of pleasure to the gay And wisdom to the wise, And soothe the poet's beating heart With fame that never dies. To virgins languishing in love They speak the moment nigh, And warm consenting hearts they join And paint the rapture high. In every language, every tongue, The same kind things they say, In gentle slumbers speak by night, In waking dreams by day. Cassandra's fate reversed is their's, She, true, no faith could gain, They every passing hour deceive, Yet are believed again. |