But, O MELPOMENE, for whom
Awakes thy golden shell again?
What mortal breath shall e'er presume
To eccho that unbounded strain?
Majestic in the frown of years,
Behold, the Man of Thebes appears:
For some there are, whose mighty frame
The hand of JOVE at birth indow'd
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd;
As eagles drink the noontide flame,