Who widely late her banner spread,
Fell solitude,—to jocund song,
Now yields her reign usurp’d too long:
While Bacchus, rosy god of wine!
And Venus, with her joys divine,
Dispute the Empire with the Nine.
But would you reach the heights of fame,
And glory from Apollo’s claim;
Now, now, the Chaplet ’gin to weave,
Now, vows to favouring heaven give.