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Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound
And see the winged lightnings as they fly;
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.
And thou, O warrior Maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove.
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lovest thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?
Or bear'st thy Ægis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heavenly bosom move?
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