He whom thou, Melpomene,Hast welcomed with thy smile, in life arriving,Ne'er by boxer's skill shall beRenown'd abroad, for Isthmian mastery striving;Him shall never fiery steedDraw in Achaean car a conqueror seated;Him shall never martial deedShow, crown'd with bay, after proud kings defeated,Climbing Capitolian steep:But the cool streams that make green Tibur flourish,And the tangled forest deep,On soft Aeolian airs his fame shall nourish.Rome, of cities first and best,Deigns by her sons' according voice to hail meFellow-bard of poets blest,And faint and fainter envy's growls assail me.Goddess, whose Pierian artThe lyre's sweet sounds can modulate and measure,Who to dumb fish canst impartThe music of the swan, if such thy pleasure: