Ode to Constantius
1.
'Tis thine, Constantius, to possess the skill,
To sweep with airs divine the sounding lyre;
To make the notes harmonious gently trill,
And soothe the heart with music's sacred fire.
2.
Nor is the heavenly muse to thee unkind;
Witness those numbers, which so smoothly flow: —
Tho' you so modest, to your merit blind,
Decline the wreath, and with it grace my brow.
3.
Yes — if the pleasing task to me were given,
To aid thy progress in the devious road
Of transient life so rugged and uneven:
And lead thy steps to virtue's calm abode,
4.
As thy good Genius with maternal care,
Such as Alexis and my Lucius proves,
I'd teach that Glory, Fame and Science are
The fruits that grow in her immortal groves.
'Tis thine, Constantius, to possess the skill,
To sweep with airs divine the sounding lyre;
To make the notes harmonious gently trill,
And soothe the heart with music's sacred fire.
2.
Nor is the heavenly muse to thee unkind;
Witness those numbers, which so smoothly flow: —
Tho' you so modest, to your merit blind,
Decline the wreath, and with it grace my brow.
3.
Yes — if the pleasing task to me were given,
To aid thy progress in the devious road
Of transient life so rugged and uneven:
And lead thy steps to virtue's calm abode,
4.
As thy good Genius with maternal care,
Such as Alexis and my Lucius proves,
I'd teach that Glory, Fame and Science are
The fruits that grow in her immortal groves.
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