Classic Poem

If e'er at leisure in the shade
We've play'd a lesson to remain:
My lyre, the like be now essay'd,
A true Augustan strain.
Thou whom that Lesbian touch'd so sweet,
Tho' with his soldiers arms he bore
Val'rous, or moor'd his shatter'd fleet
Upon the swampy shore.
Yet Venus and her clinging boy,
And wine to musick wou'd he set,
And on fair maids his skill employ,
With hair and eyes of jet.
O pride of Phoebus, grateful shell,
Accepted where the gods regale,
Thou, that canst sooth my toils so well,
'Tis Horace bids thee hail!