Classic Poem

Since now our Roman peace the North refrains,
And war's grim trumpets cease their dreadful strains,
This little book to Marcellinus send,
For now to verse his leisure he can lend.
And if you wish the petty gift to increase
Send too a page to serve his hours of peace.
Not such a one as nursed by Getic cattle
On ice-bound rivers makes his hoopstick rattle,
But some young Lesbian boy whose cheeks glow warm,
Or Spartan yet unscourged by mother's arm.
He'll send to you instead from Hister's dales
A serf to feed your sheep in Tibur's vales.