Classic Poem

If I lived in Picenum and fattened field-fares,
Or a Sabine laid out in the woods my meshed snares:
If a fowler's long rod gained for me its light prey,
Or if birds on limed twigs were for me forced to stay,
Then, Carus, my kinship would give you your due;
Neither brother nor grandsire should come before you.
As it is, o'er my fields only starlings take wing,
And finches and chattering sparrows in spring,
To the magpie's loud call my rough ploughman replies
And the ravening kite flies aloft to the skies.
So now these poor fowl from my farmyard I send:
Pray accept them and be my good kinsman and friend.