Rome, of cities first and best,Deigns by her sons' according voice to hail meFellow-bard of poets blest,And faint and fainter envy's growls assail me.Goddess, whose Pierian artThe lyre's sweet sounds can modulate and measure,Who to dumb fish canst impartThe music of the swan, if such thy pleasure:O, 'tis all of thy dear graceThat every finger points me out in goingLyrist of the Roman race;Breath, power to charm, if mine, are thy bestowing!E'en as the lightning's minister,Whom Jove o'er all the feather'd breedMade sovereign, having proved him sureErewhile on auburn Ganymede;