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The ready muses' lovely choir

To them on Pelion's mountain sang,

And in the midst Apollo's lyre,

Struck by his golden plectrum, rang,

As the great leader sounded high

Its varied seven-toned harmony.

They hymn'd, beginning first from Jove,

Peleus and Thetis' sacred name,

And how the fair Cretheis strove,

Hippolyta, to soil his fame.

Magnesia's lord, her spouse, she led

By many a lure and artful wile,

Feigning a tale of treacherous guile,

That he Acastus' nuptial bed

Attempted basely to defile.

'Twas false—for him with raging mind

And suppliant prayer she oft address'd:

Yet her warm speech no love could find

Responsive in his tortured breast.

But he refused the nymph's desire,

Dreading His wrath the stranger's sire.

Heaven's mighty king, immortal Jove,

Who guides the clouds that roll above,

Observed the deed, and gave a sign

That from the golden-sceptred line

Of Nereids sporting in the main

The hero should a consort gain;

Persuading Neptune to approve

The social bond of kindred love;

The god who oft from Ægæ's height

To Dorian Isthmus speeds his flight.