“Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon’s harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Thro’ verdant vales, and Ceres’ golden reign:
Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, see it pour:
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.”
The progress of Poesy – A pindaric ode from yore.