"O Hermes, thou who couldst of yore
Amphion's bosom warm,
And breathe into his strains the power,
The rugged rocks to charm;
Breathe, breathe into my lyre's soft string,
And bid its music sweet notes fling,
For what O lyre, can thee withstand?
Touched by an Orpheus' magic hand,
Thou calm'st the tiger's wrath:
The listening woods thou draw'st along,
The rivers stay to hear thy song,
And listen still as death.
Tityos with pleasure heard thy strain,
And Ixion smiled amid his pain."