Nor was the morn with blushing streaks o’erspread, And all the starry fires of heaven were fled; The chiefs perplex’d, and fill’d with doubtful care, To their protector’s sumptuous roofs repair, By genuine signs implore him to express, What seats he deigns to choose, what land to bless: Scarce their ascending prayers had reached the sky; Lo, the serpentine god, erected high! Forerunning hissings his approach confess’d; Bright shone his golden scales, and waved his lofty crest; The trembling altar his appearance spoke; The marble floor, and glittering ceiling shook; The doors were rock’d; the statue seemed to nod; And all the fabric own’d the present god; His radiant chest he taught aloft to rise, And round the temple cast his flaming eyes: Struck was the astonish’d crowd; the holy priest, His temples with white bands of ribboned dress’d, With reverent awe the power divine confess’d! “The god! the god!” he cries; “all tongues be still! Each conscious breast devoutest ardour fill! Oh beauteous! oh divine! assist our cares, And be propitious to thy vot’ries prayers!”