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THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE.
TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE HORSE RACE.
CAN earth, or fire, or liquid air,
The circus of Olympian Jove;
Over sheep clad Sicily
Who the righteous sceptre beareth, Every flower of virtue's tree
Wove in various wreath he weareth,-But the bud of poesy
Is the fairest flower of all;
Which the bards, in social glee,
Strow round Hiero's wealthy hall.
The harp on yonder pin suspended,
Sieze it, boy, for Pisa's sake,
And that good steed's, whose thought will wake
By Alpheus' bride, with feet of flame,
And earned the olive wreath of fame
Who loves the generous courser well:
The youth an ivory shoulder bore.
-Well,-these are tales of mystery !
And many a darkly woven lie
Our frailer mortal wits obey,
Can honor give to actions ill,
But if we dare the deeds rehearse
'T were meet that in such dangerous verse
That when in heaven a favored guest,
To which, in after day,