Classic Poem

Vesta , whose presence every dome will grace,
Of heavenly inmates or man's meaner race;
Honour'd of old—no festive board is spread,
But first to thee the free libation's shed;
To thee and him who bears the golden rod,
Of Jove and Maia sprung, the herald-god.
Both deign to visit man's terrestrial race,
Endow with virtue, and with beauty grace.
Hail, Saturn's daughter!—Hermes, hail! again
Soon shall I greet ye in a nobler strain.