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Ode X. Hymn to Mercury.

Thou God of Wit (from Atlas sprung)
Who by persuasive Power of Tongue,
And graceful Exercise refin'd
The savage Race of human Kind;
Hail, winged Messenger of Jove,
And all th'immortal Powers above,
Sweet Parent of the bending Lyre,
Thy Praise shall all its Sounds inspire.
Artful, and cunning to conceal
Whate'er in sportive Theft you steal;
When from the God, who gilds the Pole,
Ev'n yet a Boy his Herds you stole,
With angry Voice the threatning Pow'r
Bad thee thy fraudful Prey restore,
But of his Quiver too beguil'd,
Pleas'd with the Theft Apollo smil'd.

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You were the wealthy Priam's Guide
When safe from Agamemnon's Pride,
Through hostile Camps, which round him spread
Their watchful Fires, his Way he sped.
Unspotted Spirits you consign
To blissful Seats and Joys divine,
And powerful with thy golden Wand
The light, unbodied Croud command;
Thus grateful does thy Office prove
To Gods below and Gods above.