Classic Poem

A grateful change! Favonius, and the spring
To the sharp winter's keener blasts succeed,
Along the beach, with ropes, the ships they bring,
And launch again, their watry way to speed.
No more the plowmen in their cots delight,
Nor cattle are contented in the stall;
No more the fields with hoary frosts are white,
But Cytherean Venus leads the ball.
She, while the moon attends upon the scene,
The Nymphs and decent Graces in the set,
Shakes with alternate feet the shaven green,
While Vulcan's Cyclops at the anvil sweat.
Now we with myrtle shou'd adorn our brows,
Or any flow'r that decks the loosen'd sod;
In shady groves to Faunus pay our vows,
Whether a lamb or kid delight the God.
Pale death alike knocks at the poor man's door,
O happy Sextius, and the royal dome,
The whole of life forbids our hope to soar,
Death and the shades anon shall press thee home.
And when into the shallow grave you run,
You cannot win the monarchy of wine,
Nor doat on Lycidas, as on a son,
Whom for their spouse all little maids design.