Classic Poem

Doth Caesar now to Ausonia wend his way
From that far land where northern frosts hold sway?
No token sure have we, but Rumour's voice —
Fain would I think her true — cries loud Rejoice.
Glad faces at the notice-boards are seen
And martial spears are wreathed with garlands green.
Soon Rome thy glorious triumph's tale shall tell,
And hail thee once again " Invincible."
But now, that we in joy may more believe,
Come thou thyself the laurel to receive.