Page:Vida's Art of Poetry.djvu/48

Inspir'd with all the God; who rapt on high$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
With more than mortal rage unbounded fly,
And range the dark recesses of the sky.
Next at their feasts, the people sung their lays,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
(The same their prophets sung in former days)
Their Theme an hero, and his deathless praise.

What has to man of nobler worth been giv'n,
Than this the best and greatest gift of Heav'n?
Whatever pow'r the glorious gift bestow'd;
We trace the certain footsteps of a God;
By thee inspir'd, the daring poet flies,
His soul mounts up, and tow'rs above the skies;
Thou art the source of pleasure, and we see
No joy, no transport, when debarr'd of thee,
Thy tuneful deity the feather'd throng
Confess in all the measures of their song.
Thy great commands the savages obey,
And every silent native of the sea:
Led by thy voice the starting rocks advance,
And listening forests mingle in the dance.