I wish on earth to sing
Of Jove the bounteous store,
That all the Earth may ring
With Tale of Wrong no more.
I fear no foe in field or tent,
Tho' weak our cause yet strong his Grace:
As Polar roamers clad in Fur,
Unweeting whither we were bent
We found as 'twere a native place,
       &nbspWhere not a Blast could stir:



For Jove had his Almighty Presence lent:
Each eye beheld, in each transfigured Face,
The radiant light of Joy, and Hope's forgotten Trace.

or



O then I sing Jove's bounteous store—
On rushing wing while sea-mews roar,
And raking Tides roll Thunder on the shore.