Classic Poem

For nought but Praise the Second Tube did sound,
(In Praise she triumph'd, as she did in Pain;)
Th' Applauses of her easy Sway rebound
Thro' the dark Vaults, in shrill harmonious Strain;
Proud of the Tale, she rears her haughty Crest;
When thus the warbling Brass its Lays exprest.