No mightier birth may he beget;No like, no second has he known;Yet nearest to her sire's is setMinerva's throne.Nor yet shall Bacchus pass unsaid,Bold warrior, nor the virgin foeOf savage beasts, nor Phoebus, dreadWith deadly bow.Alcides too shall be my theme,And Leda's twins, for horses he,He famed for boxing; soon as gleamTheir stars at sea,The lash'd spray trickles from the steep,The wind sinks down, the storm-cloud flies,The threatening billow on the deepObedient lies.Shall now Quirinus take his turn,