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Eugene Field - To Pompeius Varus
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Pompey, what fortune gives you back
  To the friends and the gods who love you?
Once more you stand in your native land,
  With your native sky above you.
Ah, side by side, in years agone,
  We`ve faced tempestuous weather,
      And often quaffed
      The genial draught
  From the same canteen together.

When honor at Philippi fell
  A prey to brutal passion,
I regret to say that my feet ran away
  In swift Iambic fashion.
You were no poet; soldier born,
  You stayed, nor did you wince then.
     Mercury came
     To my help, which same
  Has frequently saved me since then.

But now you`re back, let`s celebrate
  In the good old way and classic;
Come, let us lard our skins with nard,
  And bedew our souls with Massic!
With fillets of green parsley leaves
  Our foreheads shall be done up;
     And with song shall we
     Protract our spree
  Until the morrow`s sun-up.
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