Classic Poem

The man, my friend, whose conscious heart
With virtue's sacred ardour glows,
Nor taints with death th'envenom'd dart,
Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows.

Tho' Scythia's icy cliffs he treads
Or torrid Africk's faithless sands;
Or where the fam'd Hydaspes spreads
His liquid wealth o'er barb'rous lands.

For while by Chloe's image charm'd,
Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd,
Me singing, careless and unarm'd,
A grizly wolf surpris'd, and fled.

No savage more portentous stain'd
Apulia's spacious wilds with gore;
None fiercer Juba's thirsty land,
Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.

Place me where no soft summer gale
Among the quivering branches sighs;
Where clouds condens'd for ever veil,
With horrid gloom the frowning skies.

Place me beneath the burning line,
A clime deny'd to human race;
I'll sing of Chloe's charms divine,
Her heavenly voice, and beautious face.

TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS

The Man, my Friend, whose conscious Heart
With Virtue's sacred Ardour glows,
Nor taints with Death th'envenom'd Dart,
Nor needs the Guard of Moorish Bows.

O'er icy Caucasus he treads,
Or torrid Afric 's faithless Sands,
Or where the fam'd Hydaspes spreads
His liquid Wealth thro' barbarous Lands.

For while in Sabine Forests, charm'd
By Lalage , too far I stray'd,
Me singing, careless and unarm'd,
A furious Wolf approach'd, and fled.

No Beast more dreadful ever stain'd
Apulia 's spacious Wilds with Gore;
No Beast more fierce Numidia 's Land,
The Lion's thirsty Parent, bore.

Place me where no soft Summer Gale
Among the quivering Branches sighs,
Where Clouds, condens'd, for ever veil
With horrid Gloom the frowning Skies:

Place me beneath the burning Zone,
A Clime deny'd to human Race;
My Flame for Lalage I'll own;
Her Voice and Smiles my Song shall grace.