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Rh While witlings learn'd with empty sound

Like crows pursue their ceaseless round,

That through the airy plains above

Track the majestic bird of Jove.

Then take, my soul, thy fearless aim—

Drawn from the quiet storehouse say

To whom thine arrows wing their way

Along the path of fame?

Far as proud Agrigentum's height

Should they direct their devious flight,

If sworn to truth, I will declare

That in the hundred years whose course hath fled

O'er her imperial head,

No heart more friendly, no more liberal hand

Than Theron's, who now sways the subject land,

Hath held dominion there.

Yet Insolence her voice will raise

Unjust to thwart the monarch's praise,

And Envy's rancorous tongue invade,

Casting his merits into shade.

Howe'er the base malignant crew

His name with violence pursue,

If thou wouldst all his generous deeds explore,

As soon the sandy grains thy tongue shall number o'er.