Classic Poem

ODE XXXI.— THE DEDICATION OF APOLLO'S TEMPLE .

When the bard in worship, low
Bends before his liege Apollo,
While the red libations flow
From the goblet's golden hollow,
Can ye guess his orison?
Can it be for “grain” he asketh—
Mellow grain, that in the sun
O'er Sardinia's bosom basketh?

No, no! The fattest herd of kine
That o'er Calabrian pasture ranges—
The wealth of India's richest mine—
The ivory of the distant Ganges?
No—these be not the poet's dream—
Nor acres broad to roam at large in,
Where lazy Liris, silent stream,
Slow undermines the meadow's margin.

The landlord of a wide domain
May gather his Campanian vintage,
The venturous trader count his gain—
I covet not his rich per centage:
When for the merchandise he sold
He gets the balance he relied on,
Pleased let him toast, in cups of gold,
“Free intercourse with Tyre and Sidon!”

Each year upon the watery waste,
Let him provoke the fierce Atlantic
Four separate times—…I have no taste
For speculation so gigantic.
The gods are kind, the gain superb;
But, haply, I can feast in quiet
On salad of some homely herb,
On frugal fruit and olive diet.

Oh, let Latona's son but please
To guarantee me health's enjoyment!
The goods he gave—the faculties
Of which he claims the full employment;
Let me live on to good old age,
NOdeed of shame my pillow haunting,
Calm to the last, the closing stage
Of life:—nor let the lyre be wanting!