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No house has my door;And in and out ever

KLOPSTOCK would lead us away from Pindus; no longer for laurelMay we be eager--the homely acorn alone must content us;Yet he himself his more-than-epic crusade is conductingHigh on Golgotha's summit, that foreign gods he may honour!Yet, on what hill he prefers, let him gather the angels together,Suffer deserted disciples to weep o'er the grave of the just one:There where a hero and saint hath died, where a bard breath'd his numbers,Both for our life and our death an ensample of courage resplendentAnd of the loftiest human worth to bequeath,--ev'ry nationThere will joyously kneel in devotion ecstatic, reveringThorn and laurel garland, and all its charms and its tortures.

If his flight the huntsman aids.