That honour'd piece to distant times must live;
When noble Sheffield strikes the trembling strings,
The little loves rejoice and clap their wings.
Anacreon lives, they cry, th' harmonious swain }
Retunes the lyre, and tries his wonted strain, }
'Tis he,—our lost Anacreon lives again. }
But when th' illustrious poet soars above
The sportive revels of the god of love,
Like Maro's muse he takes a loftier flight,
And towers beyond the wond'ring Cupid's sight.