Page:Odes and Carmen Saeculare.djvu/56

 Sweet too the laugh, whose feign'd alarm
 * The hiding-place of beauty tells,

The token, ravish'd from the arm
 * Or finger, that but ill rebels.

RANDSON of Atlas, wise of tongue, O Mercury, whose wit could tame Man's savage youth by power of song And plastic game! Thee sing I, herald of the sky, Who gav'st the lyre its music sweet, Hiding whate'er might please thine eye In frolic cheat. See, threatening thee, poor guileless child, Apollo claims, in angry tone, His cattle;—all at once he smiled, His quiver gone. Strong in thy guidance, Hector's sire Escaped the Atridæ, pass'd between Thessalian tents and warders' fire, Of all unseen. Thou lay'st unspotted souls to rest; Thy golden rod pale spectres know; Blest power! by all thy brethren blest, Above, below!