IX.
Ne forte credas.
THIHK not those strains can e'er expire,
Which, cradled 'mid the echoing roar
Of Aufidus, to Latium's lyre
I sing with arts unknown before.
Though Homer fill the foremost throne,
Yet grave Stesichorus still can please,
And fierce Alcæus holds his own
With Pindar and Simonides.
The songs of Teos are not mute,
And Sappho's love is breathing still:
She told her secret to the lute,
And yet its chords with passion thrill.
Hot Sparta's queen alone was fired
By broider'd robe and braided tress,
And all the splendours that attired
Her lover's guilty loveliness:
Hot only Teucer to the field
His arrows brought, nor Ilion
Beneath a single conqueror reel'd:
Hot Crete's majestic lord alone,
Or Sthenelus, earn'd the Muses' crown:
Hot Hector first for child and wife,
Or brave Deiphobus, laid down
The burden of a manly life.
