Array’d in splendour, holding silver rods,
To greet the Emperor, as the monarch came
Down from the clouds in crimson-colour’d flame.
* * * * *
Apollo, garmented in robes of gold,—
His stature like a giant to behold,—
With voice unmatch’d in compass and in tone,
Pour’d forth his song, which vibrated the zone:
Its text was this—“Hail, Pluto, mighty king;”—
Then all Apollo’s minstrels ’round him sing