Classic Poem

STROPHE I

Each element to water yields;
And gold, like blazing fire by night,
Amidst the stores of wealth that builds
The mind aloft, is eminently bright:
But if, my soul, with fond desire
To sing of games thou dost aspire,
As thou by day can'st not descry,
Through all the liquid waste of sky,
One burnish'd star, that like the sun does glow,
And cherish every thing below,
So, my sweet soul, no toil divine,
In song, does like the Olympian shine:
Hence do the mighty poets raise
A hymn, of every tongue the praise,
The son of Saturn to resound,
When far, from every land, they come
To visit Hiero 's regal dome,
Where peace, where plenty, is for ever found:

ANTISTROPHE I

Lord of Sicilia 's fleecy plains,
He governs, righteous in his power,
And, all excelling while he reigns,
From every lovely virtue crops the flower:
In musick, blossom of delight,
Divinely skill'd, he cheers the night,
As we are wont, when friends design
To feast and wanton o'er their wine:
But from the wall the Dorian harp take down,
If Pisa , city of renown,
And if the fleet victorious steed,
The boast of his unrival'd breed,
Heart-pleasing raptures did inspire,
And warm thy breast with sacred fire,
When late, on Alpheus ' crouded shore,
Forth-springing quick, each nerve he strain'd,
The warning of the spur disdain'd,
And swift to victory his master bore,

EPODE I

The lov'd Syracusian , the prince of the course,
The king, who delights in the speed of the horse:
Great his glory, great his fame,
Throughout the land where Lydian Pelops came
To plant his men, a chosen race,
A land the ocean does embrace, [. . .]