Classic Poem

While you at Tuscan baths for pleasure stay,
(Too hot when Sirius darts his sultry ray,
Though now the purple spring adorns the trees,
Not Baia's more medicinal than these,)
Me harder fates attend, my youth decays:
Yet spare, Persephone! My blameless days:
With secret wickedness unstung my soul;
I never mix'd nor gave the baneful bowl;
I ne'er the holy mysteries proclaim'd;
I fir'd no temple, and no god defam'd:
Age has not snow'd my jetty locks with white,
Nor bent my body, nor decay'd my sight:
(When both the consuls fell, ah fatal morn!
Fatal to Roman freedom! I was born)
Apples unripe, what folly 'tis to pull,
Or crush the cluster ere the grapes are full!
Ye gloomy gods! whom Acheron obeys,
Dispel my sickness, and prolong my days.
Ere to the shades my dreary steps I take,
Or ferry o'er the' irremeable lake,
Let me (with age when wrinkled all my face)
Tell ancient stories to my listening race:
Thrice fivelong days and nights consum'd with fire,
(O soothe its rage!) I gradually expire:
While you the Naiad of your fountain praise,
Or lave, or spend in gentle sport your days:
Yet, O my friends! whate'er the Fates decree,
Joy guide your steps, and still remember me!
Meantime, to deprecate the fierce disease,
And hasten glad returns of vigorous ease;
Milk, mix'd with wine, O promise to bestow,
And sable victims, on the gods below.