“To thee, fair goddess, we’ll a garland plait, Of ears of corn, t’ adorn thy temple gate.” […] The muses love thy shrilly tone; Apollo calls thee all his own; ‘Twas he who gave that voice to thee, Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. […] The triple porter of the Stygian seat, And seiz’d with fear, forgot thy mangled meat. […] an added grace To heav’n, and the great author of thy race. Receive the grateful off’rings which we pay, And smile propitious on thy solemn day.”