And charm through distant ages: wrapt in shade,
Prisoner of darkness! to the silent hours
How often I repeat their rage divine,
To lull my griefs, and steal my heart from woe!
I roll their raptures, but not catch their fire,
Dark, though not blind, like thee, Mæonides!
Or his, who made Mæonides our own.
Man, too, he sung; immortal man I sing;
Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds of life;
What, now, but immortality, can please?