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Guided her golden-wheeled throne;
The broad and burning eye of night.
And now the days were told aright,
When Alpheus, from his sandy source,
Should judge the champion's eager might,
And mark of wheels the rolling force.
Nor yet a tree to cheer the sight
The Cronian vale of Pelops bore;
Obnoxious to the noonday weight
Of summer suns, a naked shore.

But she who sways the silent sky,
Latona's own equestrian maid,
Beheld how far Alcides strayed,
Bound on adventure strange and high:
Forth from the glens of Arcady
To Istrian rocks in ice arrayed
He urged the interminable race,
(Such penance had Eurystheus laid,)
The golden-horned hind to chase,
Which, grateful for Diana's aid,
By her redeemed from foul embrace,
Old Atlas' daughter hallowed.
Thus, following where the quarry fled,
Beyond the biting North he past,
Beyond the regions of the blast.

And all unknown to traveller's tread, He saw the blessed land at last.— He stopt, he gazed with new delight, When that strange verdure met his sight;

And soft desire enflamed his soul (Where twelve times round the chariots roll,) To plant with such the Pisan goal.

But now, unseen to mortal eyes, He comes to Theron's sacrifice:

And with him brings to banquet there High bosomed Leda's knightly pair.— Himself to high Olympus bound, To these a latest charge he gave, A solemn annual feast to found, And of contending heroes round To deck the strong, the swift, the brave. Nor doubt I that on Theron's head, And on the good Emmenides, The sons of Jove their blessings shed;Whom still, with bounteous tables spread, That holy tribe delight to please;Observing with religious dread The hospitable god's decrees.

But, wide as water passeth earthly clay, Or sun-bright gold transcendeth baser ore;

Wide as from Greece to that remotest shore
Whose rock-built pillars own Alcides' sway;
Thy fame hath passed thine equals! To explore
The further ocean all in vain essay,
Or fools or wise; here from thy perilous way
Cast anchor here, my bark! I dare no more.



O, urging on the tireless speed

Of Thunder's elemental steed,

Lord of the world, almighty Jove!

Since these thine hours have led me forth

The witness of thy champions' worth,

And prophet of thine olive grove:

And since the good thy poet hear,

And hold his tuneful message dear;

Saturnian Lord of Etna hill.

Whose storm-cemented rocks encage

The hundred-headed rebel's rage;

Accept with favorable will

The Muse's gilt of harmony;

The dance, the song, whose numbers high

Forbid the hero's dame to die,

A crown of life abiding still.

Hark, round the car of victory,
Where noble Psaumis sits on high.

The cheering notes resound;
Who vows to swell with added fame

His Camarilla's ancient name;

With Pisan olive crowned.
And thou, O father ,hear his prayer,—
For much I praise the knightly care

That trains the warrior steed:
Nor less the hospitable ball
Whose open doors the stranger call;
Yet, praise I Psaumis most of all

For wise and peaceful rede,
And patriot love of liberty.
What? do we wave the glozing lie .'
Then whoso list my truth to try,
The proof be in the deed.

To Lemnos's laughing dames of yore,
Such was the proof Ernicus bore,

When, matchless in his speed,
All brazen-armed the racer hoar,
Victorious on the applauding shore,

Sprang to the proffered meed; Bowed to the queen his wreathed head; 'Thou seest my limbs are light,' he said;

'And, lady, may'st thou know, That every joint is firmly strung, And hand and heart alike are young; Though treacherous time my locks among

Have strewed a summer snow.'

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