Thou turn'st the rivers, thou the sea;Thou, on far summits, moist with wine,Thy Bacchants' tresses harmlesslyDost knot with living serpent-twine.Thou, when the giants, threatening wrack,Were clambering up Jove's citadel,Didst hurl o'erweening Rhoetus back,In tooth and claw a lion fell.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