Classic Poem

Go from our Baian Lake, I bid thee go,
Ere thou the guilt of sacrilege allow.
Holy the fish that swim about this strand;
They know their Lord, and fawn upon the hand
That is on earth most mighty, and withal
They have their names and answer to his call,
An impious wretch from Africa's dark shore
Was drawing from this deep his prey of yore,
When sudden blindness fell upon his eyes,
Nor could he longer see his watery prize.
So now he holds his cursed hooks in hate,
And as a beggar sits at Baiae's gate.
Revere these dainty fish and with pure heart
Cast them a guileless meal and then depart.