Classic Poem

O HAPPY day, more hallowed than the morn
When on consenting Ida Jove was born,
Come oft I pray and Nestor's years outrun,
Matching our Emperor's glory with thy sun.
Long may he Pallas court, in Alba's gold,
Long in proud hand the oak-leaf garland hold,
And even when a hundred years have flown
May the Great Games still see him on the throne.
A wondrous gift, yet owed to earth by fate!
And for a god so high no vows can seem too great.