---

Eugene Field - An Ode To Fortune
Work rating: Low

O Lady Fortune! `t is to thee I call,
Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown
The veriest clod with riches and renown,
  And change a triumph to a funeral
The tillers of the soil and they that vex the seas,
Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees
  Invoke thee, all.

  Of Dacian tribes, of roving Scythian bands,
Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red
With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting dread;
  Within thy path no human valor stands,
And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown
The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely down
  From kingly hands.

  Necessity precedes thee in thy way;
Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is seen
Dancing attendance with obsequious mien;
  But with what coward and abject dismay
The faithless crowd and treacherous wantons fly
When once their jars of luscious wine run dry,--
  Such ingrates they!

  Fortune, I call on thee to bless
Our king,--our Caesar girt for foreign wars!
Help him to heal these fratricidal scars
  That speak degenerate shame and wickedness;
And forge anew our impious spears and swords,
Wherewith we may against barbarian hordes
  Our Past redress!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.