Classic Poem

I.

From Phaebus, Patron of the lyre,
What does his suppliant bard require?
Not, sure, Sardinia's fertile fields,
Nor all the herds Calabria yields:
Not mines, where gold resplendent glows,
Nor lands, where Liris gently flows.

II.

Let those, who're charm'd with wealth, or state,
Request that they be rich or great:
But an old age with music crown'd,
A quiet life, and health e'er sound,
A mind at ease, and simple fare,
Shall still engage my constant pray'r.