Who fain at Pindar's flight would aim,On waxen wings, Iulus, heSoars heavenward, doom'd to give his nameTo some new sea.Pindar, like torrent from the steepWhich, swollen with rain, its banks o'erflows,With mouth unfathomably deep,Foams, thunders, glows,All worthy of Apollo's bay,Whether in dithyrambic rollPouring new words he burst awayBeyond control,Or gods and god-born heroes tell,Whose arm with righteous death could tameGrim Centaurs, tame Chimaeras fell,Out-breathing flame,Or bid the boxer or the steedIn deathless pride of victory live,And dower them with a nobler meedThan sculptors give,