Stiving to rise in vain:
Nor e’er can hope with equal lays
To celebrate bright virtue’s praise.
Thy aid obtain’d, ev’n I, the humblest swain,
May climb Pierian heights, and quit the lowly plain.
The Epode.
High in the starry orb is hung,
And next Alcides’ guardian arm,
That harp to which thy Orpheus sung
Who woods, and rocks, and winds could charm;