From Anacreon

ODE I.
  Sing the old Atridæ!
  Sing, my Lyre, of Cadmus.
  But the Lyre, refusing,
  Only sang of Love.
  Strings and Lyre I changed—to
  Chaunt of great Alcides.
  Still the Lyre responded
  Nought but notes of Love.
  Farewell! then—to heroes;—
  For what time remains me—
  Since my Lyre will echo
  Thoughts alone of Love.