Classic Poem

Whither would'st, Bacchus, ravish me?
Unto what groves and caverns drear
Am I borne hence, filled full of thee,
By swift strange thoughts? What grot shall hear
My strains, when to the starry vault
And to Jove's council board I aim
Great Caesar's glory to exalt?
Wondrous my tale and new to fame.
As from her mountainous retreat
Doth sleepless Eviad with amaze
On Rhodope trod by savage feet,
On snowy Thrace and Hebrus gaze,
So on far banks and trackless wood
Entranced I look. O thou, the king
Of Nymphs, and Bacchanals that could
Tall trees by force uprooted fling,
Nought trivial will I sing nor low,
Nought earthly. Peril sweet is mine,
Lenacus, with the god to go,
Who wreathes his brow with leafy vine.