The mystic dainties of th' immortal board:

And who by policy

Can hope to 'scape the eye

Of him who sits above by men and gods adored?—

For such offence, a doom severe,
Sent down the son to sojourn here
Among the fleeting race of man ;
Who, when the curly down began
To clothe his cheek in darker shade,
To car-borne Pisa's royal maid
A lover's tender service paid.—
But, in the darkness first he stood
Alone, by ocean's hoary flood,

And raised to him the suppliant cry,
The hoarse earth-shaking deity.-

Nor call'd in vain, through cloud and storm
Half-seen, a huge and shadowy form,

The god of waters came.—

He came, whom thus the youth address'd— "Oh, thou, if that immortal breast

Have felt a lover's flame,

A lover's prayer in pity hear,
Repel the tyrant's brazen spear

That guards my lovely dame !-
And grant a car whose rolling speed
May help a lover at his need;
Condemn'd by Pisa's hand to bleed,
Unless I win the envied meed

In Elis' field of fame !—

For youthful knights thirteen

By him have slaughter'd been,

His daughter vexing with perverse delaySuch to a coward's eye

Were evil augury ;

Nor durst a coward's heart the strife essay !

Yet, since alike to all

The doom of death must fall,

Ah! wherefore, sitting in unseemly shade, Wear out a nameless life,

Remote from noble strife,

And all the sweet applause to valour paid ?-
Yes! I will dare the course! but, thou,
Immortal friend, my prayer allow!

Thus not in vain, his grief he told,-
The ruler of the watery space
Bestow'd a wondrous car of gold,

And tireless steeds of winged pace.—
So, victor in the deathful race,

He tamed the strength of Pisa's king,
And, from his bride of beauteous face,
Beheld a stock of warriors spring,
Six valiant sons, as legends sing.—
And now, with fame and virtue crown'd,
Where Alpheus' stream, in watʼry ring,
Encircles half his turfy mound,

He sleeps beneath the piled ground,

Near that blest spot where strangers move

In many a long procession round

The altar of protecting Jove

Yet chief, in yonder lists of fame,
Survives the noble Pelops'. name;
Where strength of hands and nimble feet
In stern and dubious contest meet;
And high renown and honey'd praise,
And following length of honour'd days,
The victor's weary toil repays.—

But what are past or future joys?—
The present is our own ;—
And he is wise who best employs
The passing hour alone.--

To crown with knightly wreath the king
(A grateful task) be mine ;-

And on the smooth Eolian string
To praise his ancient line !—

For ne'er shall wand'ring minstrel find
A chief so just, a friend so kind ;

With every grace of fortune blest;
The mightiest, wisest, bravest, best !---
God, who beholdeth thee and all thy deeds,
Have thee in charge, king Hiero!—so again
The bard may sing thy horn-hoofed steeds
In frequent triumph o'er the Olympian plain !--
Nor shall the bard awake a lowly strain,

His wild notes flinging o'er the Cronian steep;
Whose ready muse, and not invoked in vain,

For such high mark her strongest shaft shall keep.—
Each hath his proper eminence!

To kings indulgent Providence

(No farther search the will of Heaven)
The glories of the earth hath given.—
Still may'st thou reign! enough for me
To dwell with heroes like to thee,
Myself the chief of Grecian minstrelsy.—

II.

TO THERON OF AGRAGAS, VICTOR IN THE CHARIOT RACE.

O SONG! whose voice the harp obeys,
Accordant aye with answering string;
What god, what hero wilt thou praise,
What man of godlike prowess sing?—
Lo! Jove himself is Pisa's king;
And Jove's strong son the first to raise
The barriers of the Olympic ring.-
And now, victorious on the wing
Of sounding wheels, our bards proclaim
The stranger Theron's honour'd name,
The flower of no ignoble race,

And prop of ancient Agragas!—

His patient sires, for many a year, Where that blue river rolls its flood, 'Mid fruitless war and civil blood

Essay'd their sacred home to rear.—

Till time assign'd, in fatal hour,
Their native virtues, wealth and power;

I

And made them, from their low degree, The eye of warlike Sicily.

And may that power, of ancient birth, From Saturn sprung, and parent Earth, Of tall Olympus' lord,

Who sees with still benignant eye

The games' long splendour sweeping by
His Alpheus' holy ford :-

Appeased with anthems chanted high,
To Theron's late posterity

A happier doom accord!

Or good or ill, the past is gone,
Nor time himself, the parent one,
Can make the former deeds undone ;-

But who would these recal,When happier days would fain efface The memory of each past disgrace, And, from the gods, on Theron's race Unbounded blessings fall!

Example meet for such a song, The sister queens of Laius' blood; Who sorrow's edge endured long, Made keener by remember'd good!— Yet now, she breathes the air of Heaven (On earth by smouldering thunder riven) Long-haired Semele :

To Pallas dear is she ;-

Dear to the sire of gods, and dear
To him, her son, in dreadful glee,
Who shakes the ivy-wreathed spear. --