Classic Poem

Mercury, Atlas' grandson eloquent,
Whose wit from rudeness won our primitive race
By gift of speech, and wrestling did invent
To shape their limbs with grace,

Of Jove and all the gods the envoy tried,
Begetter of the lyre, thee will I praise,
Wont what thou wilt in jest to steal and hide
By artful tricky ways.

Apollo once his kine, prey to thy guile,
Demanding back, else for the boyish theft
Dire vengeance threatening, broke into a smile
To find his quiver reft.

By thee from Troy with precious ransom led
Priam past Atreus' haughty sons and rows
Of Phthiot watchfires through the leaguer sped
Of Ilion's mortal foes.

Just souls in homes of bliss thou dost instal
Driving the shadowy throng with wand of gold,
Favourite of all the gods in heaven and all
The nether world that hold.