With rapture that rises in beautiful song,
Make sages immortal and ages replete
With hundreds of heroes who wrestled the wrong;
All honest men well from the Muses may claim
The numbers that murmur to merit and worth,
And so I would fold in the mantles of fame
The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.
Let orators over the deeds of the great
Re-echo the tributes of tenderest praise,
And over the ashes that slumber in state