Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command; Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee And Love serve the feast with her own willing hand Though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from the dwelling Of her thou regardest her favouring ray Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling Which, proudly she feels, hath ennobled her way It's that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion Can turn from the path a pure conscience approves Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion Holds upwards its course to the light which it loves 'Tis this makes the pride of her humble retreat And with this, though of all other treasures bereaved The breeze of her garden to her is more sweet Than the costliest incense that Pomp e'er received Then, come, if a board so untempting hath power To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine; And there's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower Who, smiling will blend his bright welcome with mine Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command; Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee And Love serve the feast with her own willing hand And Love serve the feast with her own willing hand Oh, Love serve the feast with her own willing hand