Classic Poem

Now with no weak unballast wing
A Poet double-form'd I rise,
From th'envious world with scorn I spring,
And cut with joy the wond'ring Skies.

Though from no Princes I descend,
Yet shall I see the blest abodes,
Yet, great Mæcenas, shall your friend
Quaff Nectar with th'immortal Gods.

See! how the mighty Change is wrought!
See! how whate'er remain'd of Man
By plumes is viel'd; see! quick as thought
I pierce the Clouds a tunefull Swan.

Swifter than Icarus Ill flie
Where Lybia's swarthy offspring burns,
And where beneath th'inclement Skie
The hardy Scythian ever mourns.

My Works shall propagate my fame,
To distant realms and climes unknown,
Nations shall celebrate my Name
That drink the Phasis or the Rhône.

Restrain your tears and cease your cries,
Nor grace with fading flours my Herse,
I without fun'ral elegies
Shall live for ever in my verse.