The Song of the Muses.
First Ceres taught the lab'ring Hind to plow
The pregnant Earth, and quickning Seed to sow.
She first for Man did wholesom Food provide,
And with just Laws the wicked World suply'd:
All Good from her deriv'd, to her belong
The grateful Tributes of the Muse's Song.
Her more than worthy of our Verse we deem,
Oh! were our Verse more worthy of the Theme.
Jove on the Giant fair Trinacria hurl'd,
And with one Bolt reveng'd his starry World.
Beneath her burning Hills Tiphæus lies,
And, struggling always, strives in vain to rise.
Down does Pelorus his right Hand suppress
Toward Latium, on the left Pachynè weighs,
His Legs are under Lilybæum spread,
And Ætna presses hard his horrid Head,
On his broad Back he there extended lies,
And vomits Clouds of Ashes to the Skies.
Oft lab'ring with his Load, at last he tires,
And spews out in Revenge a Flood of Fires.
Mountains he struggles to o'erwhelm, and Towns,
Earth's inmost Bowels quake, and Nature groans.
His Terrors reach the direful King of Hell;
He fears his throws will to the Day reveal
The Realms of Night, and fright his trembling Ghosts.
This to prevent, he quits the Stygian Coasts,
In his black Carr by sooty Horses drawn.
Fair Sicily he seeks, and dreads the Dawn.
Around her Plains he casts his eager Eyes,
And ev'ry Mountain to the Bottom tries.
But when, in all the careful Search, he saw,
No Cause of Fear, no ill suspected Flaw;