This moral fiction, which the facile Muse,
Thalia kind inspired, and which await
The numerous crowds that throng the Spanish scene,
Therein acquiring voice, and life, and form,
To thee I now present, with feelings pure
Of gratitude and love. By other path
The difficult height of Pindus to ascend,
In vain have I aspired, in vain; and oft
Have wept me baffled, o'er the bold attempt.
How often, striking the Aonian chords,
To win her have I sought, so fleeting, coy,
The beauty that in silence I adore!
To imitate the voice and harmony,
Which Echo erst repeated in the woods