4 APRIL 1952, Page 16

To the Nine

Oh, ye Muses nine defend us In a noisy age benighted, Your lost grace and beauty lend us, • Whom hexameters delighted, Who set thought with metre blending, Matching truth with equal beauty, Teaching to the years unending This to be the poet's duty.

Oh, ye Muses nigh forsaken, Save our wits from wandering after Songless lines that could awaken Only your derisive laughter.

Give us back again your singing. Teach us Keats is not outdated, Milton's words not ceased their winging, Homer not yet antiquated.

Ye whose thoughts were cleaner, sweeter, Than our mumbled modern curses, Give us sense again and metre.

Save us from our nonsense verses.

DUNSANY.