Your Muse shall sing in loftier strainHow Caesar climbs the sacred height,The fierce Sygambrians in his train,With laurel dight,Than whom the Fates ne'er gave mankindA richer treasure or more dear,Nor shall, though earth again should findThe golden year.Your Muse shall tell of public sports,And holyday, and votive feast,For Caesar's sake, and brawling courtsWhere strife has ceased.Then, if my voice can aught avail,Grateful for him our prayers have won,My song shall echo, “Hail, all hail,Auspicious Sun!”