Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale;
And often, while I listen'd, did my mind
Foretell with what delight her own free lyre 410
Should sometime for an Attic audience raise
Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs
Call forth those ancient demigods, to speak
Of Justice and the hidden Providence
That walks among mankind. But yet meantime
The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons
Became less pleasing. With contempt I gazed
On that tame garb and those unvarying paths,
To which the double yoke of king and priest
Had cramp'd the sullen race. At last, with hymns 420
Invoking our own Pallas and the gods
Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave
To Egypt, and before the southern wind
Spread my full sails. What climes I then survey'd,
What fortunes I encounter'd in the realm
Of Croesus or upon the Cyprian shore,
The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now
Consent that I reveal. But when at length
Ten times the sun returning from the south
Had strow'd with flowers the verdant earth, and fill'd 430
The groves with music, pleased I then beheld
The term of those long errors drawing nigh.
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