Classic Poem

Far in the North you fought and loved to see
Gleam bright above your head the frozen wain,
Nor knew how Lethe's waters threatened me
And the dim mists that shroud Elysium's plain;
Wandered mine eyes to find your face again,
" Pudens": my lips, nigh speechless, murmured still.
But now if no black thread for me be spun,
If listening gods mine orisons fulfil,
Soon shall I see you safe, the guerdon won
Of high command worthy your fame and skill.