But when, Calliope, thy loud harp rang— In Epic grandeur rose the lofty strain; The clash of arms, the trumpet's awful clang Mixed with the roar of conflict on the plain; The ardent warrior bade his coursers wheel, Trampling in dust the feeble and the brave, Destruction flashed upon his glittering steel, While round his brow encrimsoned laurels waved, And o'er him shrilly shrieked the demon of the grave. The Fair Voiced. The eldest of the Muses, she is Eloquence, and thus, governs heroic and epic poetry, and her eloquence has served to calm quarrels even amongst the surliest of Gods. She is crowned in gold, and holds a roll of parchment or stylus and tablet. Hers is the scent of creative inspiration, and it is a boon to writers, poets and arbitrators: lavender and bright mint with bergamot, verbena, thyme and a touch of sweet orange and warm almond.