Ye tuneful Muses, raise your heads!
No longer droop and mourn!
Shake off that lethargy which has so long
Enfeebl’d all your nervous raptures of heroic song!
Phoebus, that did your breasts inspire,
At length vouchsafes his all-enliv’ning fire,
Again his pow’rful influence on you sheds;
Again the god, bereft of whose kind light
So long you mourn’d the comfort of the day,
Has put a period to your night
And bless’d you with his joyful ray.
This point of time ends all your grief:
In bringing sacred Caesar it has brought relief.

Be lively then and gay,
All signs of sorrow chase away;
Be cheerful as your Patron of the day,
After a gloomy night’s gone by
And not one cloud obscures the glorious sky.
In his just praise your noblest songs let fall,
And let ‘em be immortal all:
Immortal as the fame he’s won,
The wonders he’s in battles done,
In which he did no danger shun,
But made his name co-lasting with the sun.

Try ev’ry strain,
Excite ev’ry vein;
Tune all your strings
To celebrate his so much wish’d return,
To welcome home the best of kings,
And make him welcome as the general joy he brings.

From the rattling of drums and the trumpet’s loud sounds,
Wherein Caesar’s safety and his fame abounds,
The best protectors of his royal right
’Gainst fanatical fury and sanctified spite,
By which he first did glory gain
(And may they still preserve his reign!),
To music’s softer but yet kind and pleasing melody,
Music, from care and danger free,
Music, the sweet unbender of the mind,
To music and to love he comes.

With him he brings the Partner of his throne,
That brighter jewel than a crown,
In whom does triumph each commanding grace,
An angel mien and matchless face!
There beauty its whole artillery tries,
Whilst he who ever kept the field
Gladly submits, is proud to yield
And fall captive of her conqu’ring eyes.

Happy in a mutual love,
May they each other long possess;
May ev’ry bliss still greater prove,
And ev’ry care grow less;
May Fate no revolutions bring
But what may all serenely move,
Glorious as Heav’n, from whence they spring,
And gentle as its darling, Love!
Whilst in music and verse our duty we show,
And though we can never pay all that we owe,
Yet all we can raise,
Our little mites, we humbly throw
Into the boundless treasury of their praise.