The heart’s remote recesses to explore,
And touch its springs when prose availed no more:
The kindling spirit caught th’ empyreal ray,
And glowed congenial with the swelling lay;
Roused from the chaos of primeval night,
At once fair Truth and Reason sprung to light.
When great Mæonides, in rapid song,
The thundering tide of battle rolls along,
Each ravished bosom feels the high alarms,
And all the burning pulses beat to arms;