His tuneful harp, and his unerring bow:
The pious youth, more studious how to save
His aged sire now sinking to the grave,
Preferred the power of plants, and silent praise
Of healing arts, before Phœbean bays.
Propped on his lance the pensive hero stood,
And heard and saw, unmoved, the mourning crowd.
The famed physician tucks his robes around
With ready hands, and hastens to the wound.
}