I wander afield, thriving in sturdy thought, 
Through unpathed haunts of the Pierides, 
Trodden by step of none before. I joy 
To come on undefiled fountains there, 
To drain them deep; I joy to pluck new flowers, 
To seek for this my head a signal crown 
From regions where the Muses never yet 
Have garlanded the temples of a man: 
First, since I teach concerning mighty things, 
And go right on to loose from round the mind 
The tightened coils of dread Religion; 
Next, since, concerning themes so dark, I frame 
Song so pellucid, touching all throughout 
Even with the Muses' charm- which, as 'twould seem, 
Is not without a reasonable ground: 
For as physicians, when they seek to give 
Young boys the nauseous wormwood, first do touch 
The brim around the cup with the sweet juice 
And yellow of the honey, in order that 
The thoughtless age of boyhood be cajoled 
As far as the lips, and meanwhile swallow down 
The wormwood's bitter draught, and, though befooled, 
Be yet not merely duped, but rather thus 
Grow strong again with recreated health: 
So now I too (since this my doctrine seems 
In general somewhat woeful unto those 
Who've had it not in hand, and since the crowd 
Starts back from it in horror) have desired 
To expound our doctrine unto thee in song 
Soft-speaking and Pierian, and, as 'twere, 
To touch it with sweet honey of the Muse- 
If by such method haply I might hold 
The mind of thee upon these lines of ours, 
Till thou dost learn the nature of all things 
And understandest their utility.