“Attemper’d sweet to virgin-grace.
“What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
“What strains of vocal transport round her play!
“Hear from the grave, great Talliessin, hear;
“They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
“Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings,
“Waves in the eye of Heav’n her many-colour’d wings.
IX.
“The verse adorn again
“Fierce War, and faithful Love,