Aid Me My Muse, My Mind Instill

Aid me, my Muse, my mind instill And in my soul your warm breathe give To sing of Morpheus and his pleasant dreams I cannot sleep these days. Aye! Aye! Aye! I cannot sleep And thus came pilgrim to the Muse’s shrine And there to ask my prayer to grant That I may rest my head in welcome sleep: What gifts, my Muse, favor will procure And cast me up in(to) your fortune’s eyes Sprinkle with myrrh my passage to your shrine And fill with queer shapes its unwinding path? What gifts, my Muse, will please you most Amidst the gleaming jewels of the East Which the hoarding miser strokes with trembling hands In darkened solitude blest by a small light? What gifts, my Muse, will enchanting procure Your gracious favors to my anxious self Make your scepter yield with wanton hand And of your ordinance soften the content?