Classic Poem

OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE .

When through the world Fate led the destin'd way,
Tell me, my Mitchell, in the broad survey,
What country pleas'd thy roving fancy most?
Say, wast thou smit with Bala's sunny coast?
Or wish'd thou rather weary to repose
In some cool vale where peaceful Arno flows?
Or in Ombrosa dream the lonely hour,
Where' high-arch'd hills the' Etrurian shades imbow'r;
Where plenty pours her golden gifts in vain,
That dubious swell for Carlos or Lorrain?
Or charm'd thee more the happy viny plains,
And lofty tow'rs, where mighty Louis reigns?
Say, is it true what travellers report
Of glories shining in the Gallic court?
Or, do they all, though e'er so pompous, yield
To the thatch'd cottage in thy native field?
But hark, methinks I hear thee anxious say
That thou at Palestine would'st choose to stay.
Yes, Palestine; I know the place full well,
Where holy dotards riot in each cell,
The hapless peasant pines with want and sorrow,
And all unpeopled as a royal borough:
Yet there for ever would thy friend remain,
Rather than change once more the frantic scene,
And distant hear the rollings of the main;
Unenvied, calm, enjoy a peaceful lot,
My friends remembering, nor by them forgot.