Classic Poem

Book I. Ode VII.

Let others praise the Rhodian City's pride,
 Or Ephesus , or Mitylene;
Corinth —whose walls the Ocean's path divide—
 The fane of Thebes —the Delphic scene.

Thessalian Tempè , rear thy towering crest;
 And Virgin Athens , proudly sung,
Whose leaf thy votaries hail above the rest,
 In sacred verdure ever young.

Nor Sparta me, nor that Larissian field,
 Strike with such transport of delight,
As lov'd Albunea's tuneful echoes yield,
 Or tumbling Anio's rapid flight.

Or Tibur's grove, that every Latian Muse
 Feels the ambition to explore;
Whose orchards many a fertile stream bedews,
 To heap the peasant's golden store.

As the South-west from gloom is often clear,
 Nor teems with unremitted showers;
Bid all the cares and vapours disappear,
 That cloud and chill the passing hours.

With genial wine dispel them; in the tent,
 With glittering spear, and banners bright;
Or to thy own dear Tibur's homage bent,
 Love's truant from the busy light.

When Teucer from paternal Empire fled,
 With poplar's leaf his temples crown'd,
And bath'd in wine the wreath, “Dear Friends,” he said,
 “For other shores we all are bound.

“With Teucer is no shadow for despair;
 Me, a new Salamis attends;
Apollo's word is pledg'd—and we are there:
 A God the enterprize befriends.

“My gallant comrades, we have suffer'd more;
 We are no cowards;—we are men;—
To-day in wine do honour to the shore,
 To-morrow—for the sea again.”