Classic Poem

Whether on Alba's hills, great sire, thou be,
And hence Diana, thence fair Thetis, see;
Or where near Rome the Ocean's levels sleep,
The fateful sisters do thy answers keep;
Whether green Circi, the sun's fairest child,
Or great Aeneas' nurse holds thee beguiled,
Or gleaming Anxur with health-giving stream —
I send this book to thee, whose life we deem
By grateful Jove is guarded to the end,
Our country's saviour, helper, keeper, friend.
Receive it, sire; then I'll be satisfied
And think you read it, in my Gallic pride.