I

Serene, and fitted to embrace, Where'er he turned, a swan-like grace Of haughtiness without pretence, And to unfold a still magnificence, Was princely Dion, in the power And beauty of his happier hour. And what pure homage then did wait On Dion's virtues, while the lunar beam Of Plato's genius, from its lofty sphere, Fell round him in the grove of Academe, Softening their inbred dignity austere-- That he, not too elate With self-sufficing solitude, But with majestic lowliness endued, Might in the universal bosom reign, And from affectionate observance gain Help, under every change of adverse fate.