The Muse
“Sing, O Muse,” the Poet said, and heard no answer. “Sing, O Heavenly Muse!” the Poet cried, and still heard no answer. “O, Muse, O Heavenly Muse, the Divine Mistress of our profession, speak to me!” the Poet beseeched, but heard no voice. The Poet cried in distress, “O Muse, wilt thou abandon me? Speak a word, send me a spark, make me remember and give me an aid!” Then the Poet heard, “O Child, why would I abandon thee? What wilst thou hear from me?”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “sing me of the beginning, In Principio and Caedmon’s frumsceaft. Make me remember what I have heard, how the Gods came into being, their friendships and fiendships, shaping of the World and creation of our kind after their images. How the Shaper arose out of Chaos, built the Firmament for the roof and Ground for the floor, and of the Generations of our kind from Golden to the present. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak the matters of Gods.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “then sing me of the Heroes, their wrath and prowess, how the Heroes of yore wrought deeds of valour. Make me remember what I have heard, of whose wrath brought much distress on the field of slaughter, of whose kingship spread far and wide across the swan-road, of whose journeys of homecoming have I heard. How the most worthy among our race have left us the trace, through which we redeem and make ourselves better, our wrongdoings corrected and virtues reborn. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak the matters of Heroes.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “then sing me of the Knights, their courage and sympathy, love and loyalty, how they fought for their lords and ladies. Make me remember what I have heard, of whose mortal love was drunk in a vial and whose green girdle made him fall at the Chapel. How the noble count refused to blow the horn and how the star-cross’d prince fell at his rival’s hand. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak the matters of Knights.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “if my tongue is unworthy of the higher matters, sing me, O Muse, the knowledge of the depths of Hell, of the ascending Mount Purgatory and of the Heaven where the stars shine. Make me remember what I have heard, of the Pilgrim to whom thou sent a guide, of whom that desired to ascend to the stars, saved by the Grace and the Love he had for thee. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak of the matters of Heaven and Hell.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “then sing me of the Sin and Grace, the transgressor in the earthly life, but saved by God in divine intervention and design. Make me remember what I have heard, how the Man longed for the knowledge and the true love, how he chose the divine science at the cost of his immortal soul, how his knowing matured with the passage of time and with experience, and how he came to bear the divine wisdom and salvation. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak of the morals.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “since thou wilt not speak on the lofty matters, then sing me, O Muse, of the Fall of our kind and its fruits; from the walled city to the exile, home to the field of battle and tempestuous seas, and how we once sang in innocence but must now sing in experience. Make me remember of the joyful tides, the return to which we long in the life; and how we came to be in the present condition so removed from the earthly paradise, both from the passive seduction and the active pursuit of love. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak of the Fall and Exile.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in tears, “then sing me of the lovers, whose pure love strengthend by the hardships, the unrelenting love that overcomes all enmities. Make me remember of what I have heard, evoke their passions in my soul and make my soul burn with theirs, Help me transform their virtues, passions, emotions and love into my verse. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak the matters of Love.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet in distress, “then sing no more, O Muse, but aid in my songs, in praise of Nature in her excellence, virtue and beauty as I behold; the inexhaustible source of imageries and the nourishing mother of our kind. Help me sing of the meadows and flowers, skies and clouds, setting Sun and the waxing Moon, tides of the water and the waterless desert; give me the sight of the Rainbow and help me sing of its natural piety. O Muse, give me an aid, for I want to speak the truth of these.” The Muse replied, “that I shall not speak to thee, my Child, for it befits not thy age and thou shalt have no ears for thy verse. Thou wilt not speak the matters of Nature.”
“O Muse,” said the Poet, “then what shall I sing?” The Muse replied, “thou shalt sing what befits thy age, of substantial life and aimless drift; thou shalt sing of the trivialities of life, the formulaic love and the vanities they entail, since the age in which thou livest will hear naught but of these.”
