“Grieved to condemn, the Muse must be just, Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.” – English Bards and Scotch Reviewere
Lord of the lecherous lyre! away, away!
Ask not for sympathy with such a mind;
Virtue, indignant, spurns poetic sway,
When basely wielded to corrupt mankind.
Away! the witchery of thy wanton song
Steals to young hearts voluptuous access;
But while the notes roll the charmed ear along,
The soul is prisoned in Sin’s foul caress.
Sorcerer! thou holdest an enchanted cup.
Drugged by no fabled Circe’s magic art;
There are who’ve drunk its fatal contents up,
And felt the venom shoot through all the heart
Away! and bear with thee that living lyre!
‘Tis wreathed with spotted serpents, and its breath,
Like the soft song of Scylia’s syren choir.
Though rich in melody, is rank with death.
by John Newton Brown, 1821