As round the giant-axle slowly moves;
Contracting, every turn, the clinking chain,
Which lifted Bacchus from the purple plain.
* * * * *
When (as the body swung into the cloud)
Apollo struck his harp, the noble crowd
Of gods and goddesses their tabours rung,
And peal’d the requiem in most glorious song!
Said Hercules, who almost long’d to die—
When first the anthem broke into the sky—