Lest when some day the feathered tribe resumes
(You know the tale) the appropriated plumes,
Folks laugh to see him act the jackdaw's part,
Denuded of the dress that looked so smart.
And you, what aims are yours? what thymy ground
Allures the bee to hover round and round?
Not small your wit, nor rugged and unkempt;
'Twill answer bravely to a bold attempt:
Whether you train for pleading, or essay
To practise law, or frame some graceful lay,
The ivy-wreath awaits you. Could you bear
To leave quack nostrums, that but palliate care,
Then might you lean on heavenly wisdom's hand
And use her guidance to a loftier land.
Be this our task, whate'er our station, who
To country and to self would fain be true.
This too concerns me: does Munatius hold
In Florus' heart the place he held of old,
Or is that ugly breach in your good will
We hoped had closed unhealed and gaping still?
Well, be it youth or ignorance of life
That sets your hot ungoverned bloods at strife,
Where'er you bide, 'twere shame to break the ties
Which made you once sworn brethren and allies:
So, when your safe return shall come to pass,
I've got a votive heifer out at grass.
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