Of either world may well endure;
And keep with righteous destination
The soul from all transgression pure;
To such and such alone is given,
To walk the rainbow paths of heaven,
To that tall city of almighty time,
Where Ocean's balmy breezes play,
And, flashing to the western day,
The gorgeous blossoms of such blessed clime,
Now in the happy isles are seen
Sparkling through the groves of green;
And now, all glorious to behold,
Tinge the wave with floating gold.
Hence are their garlands woven-hence their hands
Filled with triumphal boughs;-the righteous
Of Rhadamanthus, whom, o'er these his lands, A blameless judge in every time to come, Chronos, old Chronos, sire of gods hath placed; Who with his consort dear,
Dread Rhea, reigneth here,
On cloudy throne with deathless honor graced.
And still, they say, in high communion,
Peleus and Cadmus here abide;
And, with the blest in blessed union,
(Nor Jove has Thetis' prayer denied,)
The daughter of the ancient sea
Hath brought her warrior boy to be;
Him whose stern avenging blow
Laid the prop of Ilium low,
Hector, trained to slaughter, fell,
By all but him invincible ;-
And sea-born Cycnus tamed, and slew
Aurora's knight of Ethiop hue.
Beneath my rattling belt I wear
A sheaf of arrows keen and clear,
Of vocal shafts, that wildly fly,
Nor ken the base their import high,
Yet to the wise they breathe no vulgar melody. Yes, he is wise whom nature's dower
Hath raised above the crowd.
-But, trained in study's formal hour,
There are who hate the minstrel's power,
As daws who mark the eagle tower,
And croak in envy loud!—
So let them rail; but thou, my heart,
Rest on the bow thy levelled dart ;
Nor seek a worthier aim
For arrow sent on friendship's wing,
Than him the Agragantine king
Who best thy song may claim.
For, by eternal truth I swear,
His parent town shall scantly bear
A soul to every friend so dear,
A breast so void of blame;
Though twenty lustres rolling round
With rising youth her nation crowned,
In heart, in hand, should none be found
Like Theron's honored name.
Yes! we have heard the factious lie.
But let the babbling vulgar try
To blot his worth with tyranny.
Seek thou the ocean strand,
And when thy soul would fain record
The bounteous deeds of yonder lord,
Go-reckon up the sand.
May my solemn strain ascending Please the long-haired Helen well, And those brave twins of Leda's shell The stranger's holy cause defending, With whose high name the chorus blending To ancient Agragas shall rise, And Theron for the chariot prize Again, and not in vain, contending. The muse in numbers bold and high, Hath taught my Dorian note to fly, Worthy of silent awe, a strange sweet harmony. Yes, as I fix mine eager view
On yonder wreath of paly blue,
That olive wreath, whose shady round
Amid the courser's mane is bounded;
I feel again the sacred glow
That bids my strain of rapture flow,
With shrilly breath of Spartan flute,
The many-voiced harp to suit ;
And wildly fling my numbers sweet,
Again mine ancient friend to greet.
Nor, Pisa, thee I leave unsung;
To men the parent of renown.
Amid whose shady ringlets strung,
Etolia binds her olive crown;
Whose sapling root from Scythian down
And Ister's fount Alcides bare,
To deck his parent's hallowed town;
With placid brow and suppliant prayer
Soothing the favored northern seed,
Whose horny-hoofed victims bleed
To Phoebus of the flowing hair.
A boon from these the hero prayed:
One graft of that delightful tree;
To Jove's high hill a welcome shade,
To men a blessed fruit to be,
And crown of future victory.
For that fair moon, whose slender light
With inefficient horn had shone,
When late on Pisa's airy height
He reared to Jove the altar stone;
Now, through the dappled air, alone,
In perfect ring of glory bright,
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