She, like the Sybil with her golden bough,
Descends to search the sacred realms below,
In amaranthine bowers the blest appear,
By pearly grot or fountain clear:
To heroes ghosts, or scepter'd kings,
The laurell'd bard divinely sings.
Hark! the animating strains
Warble thro' th' Elysian plains:
When the pause admits delay
Thus th' immortals seem to say,
(Closing the accents of each tuneful voice)
"For ever thus, for ever we rejoice."