Classic Poem

Some other bard, Vipsanius, less wedded to his slavery,
Some lyricist like Varius with a more Homeric touch,
Shall celebrate your victories, belligerence and bravery,
Shall sing about your leadership, your strategy and such.

But I, dear general, such as I who could not think an Odyssey,
Can no more sing your martial deeds than tell the burning tale
Of Troy or shrewd Ulysses when, deserted by a goddess, he
Defied the sea heroically with half a tattered sail.

I know my limitations and—this is no mock humility—
My lyre balks at thundering themes and other warlike lures;
Its pleasant lilt, its fluent grace, its rhythmical facility
Would only serve to dull the edge of Caesar's fame—and yours.

The deeds of Mars and Diomed and other ancient gory ones,
Are not for him who lacks the voice although he has the will.
The battles I immortalize are chiefly amatory ones,
The wars, the struggles waged with arms that wound but never kill.