All ſwift of flight,
Within my quiver, ſounding right
To every skillful ear: 175
But, of the multitude, not one
Diſcerns the myſtery unexplain'd.
He tranſcendent does appear
In knowledge, from nature who gain'd
His ſtore: but the dull-letter'd croud, 180
In cenſure vehement, in nonſenſe loud,
Clamour idly, wanting skill,
Like crows, in vain, provoking ſtill
ANTISTROPHE V.Meaſures 16.
The celeſtial bird of Jove:
But, to the mark addreſs thy bow, nor rove, 185
My ſoul: and whom do I
Single out with fond deſire,
At him to let illuſtrious arrows fly?
My fix'd intent,
My aim, on Agrigentum bent, 190
A ſolemn oath I plight,
Sincere as honeſt minds require,
That through an hundred circling years,
With recorded worthies bright,
No rivalling city apppears 195
To