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From heaven's immortal rulers know

Such wondrous happiness must flow.

If ever wealth's abundant store

Illustrious glory should convey,

No higher eminence explore,

No farther mortal feet can stray.

As the convivial board is crown'd

By jocund youth's enlivening sound,

Thus the soft luxuries of song

To recent conquest's praise belong.

Where'er the festal cup is shown

The voice assumes a bolder tone.

Let this by any mingled be,

Sweet harbinger of revelry!

Let him in silver goblets pour

The potent offspring of the vine;

With which the steeds in days of yore

Enrich'd triumphant Chromius' store;

While Phœbus gloried to entwine

For him the justly woven crown

From Sicyon's venerable town.

To thee, oh Father Jove! I pray

Grant me this conquest to display,

Assisted by the Graces' choir—

Oh! may I honour in my strain

The various wreaths his efforts gain,

And to the muses let my shafts aspire.