Classic Poem

You sing as once Tyrtaeus sang,
Moved by heroic rapture;
But you have chosen ill your time.
A public hard to capture.

'Tis true they listen with applause:
The soaring thought inspires them;
Your perfect mastery of form
To acclamation fires them.

Over their wine your name they'll shout,
And toast you, a gallant fellow,
And many a stirring battle-song
With lusty throats will bellow.

Your hymns of freedom lads will sing
In the pothouse with a zest, too:
They add a flavour to their beer,
And help them to digest, too.