Page:Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748).djvu/132

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TRANSLATIONS.
But if, my soul, with fond desire 5To 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, 10So, my sweet soul, no toil divine,In song, does like the Olympian shine:Hence do the mighty poets raiseA hymn, of every tongue the praise,The son of Saturn to resound, 15When far, from every land, they comeTo visit Hiero's regal dome,Where peace, where plenty, is for ever found:
ANTISTROPHE I.Measures 18.
Lord of Sicilia's fleecy plains,He governs, righteous in his power, 20And, 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 25To feast and wanton o'er their wine:

But

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