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While the melodious numbers grace

The western Locrians' honour'd race.

Thither, ye muses, lead the festal train,

If to that land your hallow'd footsteps stray,

Ye find no rude, inhospitable swain,

Who drives the stranger from his door away.

But one, in wisdom's ample treasures bless'd,

Whose veins with all his father's valour glow;

For time but steels the rugged lion's breast,

Nor can the tawny fox his wiles forego.