race of Jove,
Blessed and fierce, who joy’st in caves to rove:
O, warlike Pallas, whose illustrious kind,
Ineffable and effable we find:
Magnanimous and fam’d, the rocky height,
And groves, and shady mountains thee delight:
In arms rejoicing, who with Furies dire
And wild, the souls of mortals dost inspire.
Gymnastic virgin of terrific mind,
Dire Gorgons bane, unmarried, blessed, kind:
Mother of arts, imperious; understood,
Rage to the wicked., wisdom to the good:
Female and male, the arts of war are thine,
Fanatic, much-form’d dragoness, divine:
O’er the Phlegrean giants rous’d to ire,
Thy coursers driving, with destruction dire.
Sprung from the head of Jove, of splendid mien,
Purger of evils, all-victorious queen.
Hear me, O Goddess, when to thee I pray,
With supplicating voice both night and day,
And in my latest hour, peace and health,
Propitious times, and necessary wealth,
And, ever present, be thy vot’ries aid,
O, much implor’d, art’s parent, blue eyed maid.