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 The youth, whose wand'ring feet with care I led Aloft, o'er steep Parnassus' sacred head; Taught from thy great example to explore Those arduous paths, which thou hast trod before. Hail, pride of Italy! thy country's grace! Hail, glorious light of all the tuneful race! For thee, we weave the crown, and altars raise; For thee, with incense bid the temples blaze; Our solemn hymns shall still resound thy praise. Hail, holy bard, and boundless in renown! Thy fame, dependent on thyself alone, Requires no song, no numbers but thy own. Look down propitious, and my thoughts inspire; Warm my chastchaste [sic] bosom with thy sacred fire! Let all thy flames with all their raptures roll, Deep in my Breast, and kindle all my Soul!