Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/182

130 Perhaps, with head and heels on fire,

And like the very soul of evil,

He's galloping away, away,

And so he'll gallop on for aye,

The bane of all that dread the devil.

I to the muses have been bound

These fourteen years, by strong indentures:

Oh gentle muses! let me tell

But half of what to him befel,

For sure he met with strange adventures.

Oh gentle muses! is this kind

Why will ye thus my suit repel?

Why of your further aid bereave me?

And can ye thus unfriended leave me?

Ye muses! whom I love so well.