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Nec fonte labra prolui Caballino,

Nec in bicipiti somniâsse Parnasso

Memini, ut repente sic Poëta prodirem.

Heliconidasque pallidamque Pirenen

Illis remitto, quorum imagines lambunt

Hederæ sequaces.

Persius Flaccus.

I ne’er have trod on classic ground,

Nor, favour’d by the Muse, have found

Pyrene’s sacred fount;

Nor with a poet’s ardent fire

Awoke to harmony the lyre,

On fam’d Parnassian mount.

To those whose brows the poet’s bays

Entwine I leave, with polish’d lays,

To charm the fickle throng;

Who seek to celebrate their name,

Encircled with the wreath of Fame,

Immortaliz’d by song.

But I, the humblest vot’ry of the Nine,

My tribute bring to Virtue’s shrine,

An altar to her raise;

Record in strains of lowly song

What lasting joys to her belong—

An off’ring to her praise.

No theme is mine of martial deed—

No tale of vaunting vict’ry’s meed,

Bestow’d on warrior bold;

Nor song of glorious chivalry,

Of border battle or foray,

By roving minstrels told.

Humble my verse, and unadorn’d;

I ween, by prouder spirits scorn’d;

A simple past’ral tale,

Of shepherds’ deed—of shepherds’ wile—

Of noble worth—of hateful guile—

Whilom in Hebron’s vale.