Classic Poem

I've made a monument to pass
The permanence of solid brass,
And rais'd to a sublimer height
Than pyramids of royal state,
Which washing rains, or winds that blow
With vehemence, cannot o'erthrow:
Nor will th'innumerable tale
Of years, or flight of time avail.
For death shall never have the whole
Of Horace, whose immortal soul
Shall 'scape the pow'rs of human bane,
And for new praise his works remain,
As long as priest and silent maid
Shall to the Capitol parade;
Where Aufidus in rapture goes,
And where poor Daunus scarcely flows,
Once rural king — I shall be thought
The prince of Roman bards, that brought
To Italy th'Aeolian airs,
Advanc'd from want to great affairs.
Assume, Melpomene, that pride,
Which is to real worth ally'd;
And in good-will descending down,
With Delphic bays my temples crown.