Classic Poem

Clouds do not always viel the skies
Nor show'rs imerse the verdant plain,
Nor do the billows always rise
Or storms afflict the ruffled main.

Nor, Valgius, on th'Armenian shores
Do the chain'd waters always freeze;
Not always furious Boreas roars
Or bends with violent force the trees.

But you are ever drown'd in tears;
For Mystes dead you ever mourn.
No setting Sol can ease your care
But finds you sad at his return.

The wise experienc'd Grecian sage
Mourn'd not Antilochus so long,
Nor did King Priam's hoary age
So much lament his slaughter'd son.

Leave off at length these woman's sighs;
Augustus num'rous trophies sing.
Repeat that Princes victories
To whom all nations tribute bring.

Niphates rolls an humbler wave;
At length th'undaunted Scythian yields,
Content to live the Romans slave
And scarce forsakes his native fields.