On Doric pillars | of white marble rear’d, |
Crown’d with an architrave | of antique mould, |
And sculpture rising | on the roughen’d gold.
In shaggy spoils | here Theseus was beheld, |
And Perseus, dreadful | with Minerva’s shield:
There great Alcides, | stooping with his toil, |
Rests on his club, | and holds th’ Hesperian spoil:
Here Orpheus sings; | trees wooing to the sound, |
Start from their roots, | and form a shade around:
Amphion there | the loud creating lyre |