Who knew thy feats in dance and playDeem'd thee belike for war's rough gameUnmeet: but peace and battle-frayFound thee, their centre, still the same.Grim Cerberus wagg'd his tail to seeThy golden horn, nor dreamd of wrong.But gently fawning, follow'd thee,And lick'd thy feet with triple tongue.No vulgar wing, nor weakly plied,Shall bear me through the liquid sky;A two-form'd bard, no more to bideWithin the range of envy's eye'Mid haunts of men. I, all ungracedBy gentle blood, I, whom you callYour friend, Maecenas, shall not tasteOf death, nor chafe in Lethe's thrall.E'en now a rougher skin expandsAlong my legs: above I changeTo a white bird; and o'er my handsAnd shoulders grows a plumage strange: