No more we slumber on the brink of fate;
Roused at the sound, th’ exulting soul ascends,
And breathes her native air; an air that feeds
Ambitions high, and fans ethereal fires;
Quick kindles all that is divine within us;
Nor leaves one loitering thought beneath the stars.
Has not Lorenzo’s bosom caught the flame?
Immortal! Were but one immortal, how
Would others envy! how would thrones adore!
Because ’tis common, is the blessing lost?