Classic Poem

Maecenas sprung from kings of might,
My strength, my pride, and my delight,
Some with their chariots are fain
The dust from off Olympia's plain
To gather; them the goal just cleared
By glowing axle deftly steered,
And palm of glory heavenward bear
The rank supreme of gods to share.
One would by emulous voters' cries
Through the three grades of office rise.
One in his barns the yield would store
Of every Libyan threshing-floor.
The yeoman, whose contented toil
His little heritage of soil
With mattock tills, not all the hoard
Of Attalus would tempt on board
An anxious mariner to plough
The Aegean main with Cyprian prow.
Scared by the combat wild that rages
When Afric wind with waves engages,
The trader will the quiet ways
Of home in country township praise;
Anon his lcaky ships repairs,
Unapt for poverty's dull cares.
One is there who will ne'er askance
At goblets of old Massic glance,
Nor scorn to break the busy day
Stealing an hour or two away,
Now in the shade his limbs to fling,
Now lulled to rest by haunted spring.
Many in camp would pass their life
'Mid bugle calls and squeal of fife,
All eager they to bear their part
In war abhorred by mother's heart.
Abroad beneath a wintry sky
The live-long night will sportsman lie,
Nor thought on his young wife bestow,
If trusty hounds have marked a doe,
Or Marsian boar have burst the net
Of firmly twisted cordage set.
Me the wreath of ivy twined,
Fit guerdon poet's brow to bind,
Transports with view of heaven displayed;
Me the cool sequestered glade,
Where Nymphs to dance with Satyrs meet,
Screens from the crowd, so music sweet,
Euterpe's pipes and Lesbian lute
Of Polyhymnia be not mute.
But if thy suffrage will my name
Among the bards of lyric fame
Enrol, in glory will I climb
And hit the stars with crest sublime.