of yellow saffron, teach his fleece to shine.While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs.“Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,”sang to their spindles the consenting Fatesby Destiny's unalterable decree.Assume thy greatness, for the time draws nigh,dear child of gods, great progeny of Jove!See how it totters—the world's orbed might,earth, and wide ocean, and the vault profound,all, see, enraptured of the coming time!Ah! might such length of days to me be given,and breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,nor Thracian Orpheus should out-sing me then,nor Linus, though his mother this, and thathis sire should aid—Orpheus Calliope,and Linus fair Apollo. Nay, though Pan,with Arcady for judge, my claim contest,with Arcady for judge great Pan himselfshould own him foiled, and from the field retire.Begin to greet thy mother with a smile,