I travelled many winding ways

That weary seemed to me,

In cloudy nights and windy days

To find old Arcadie.

The shepherds by the wayside wept

"We fain would go with thee,

An 'twere not for the sheep we kept,

To far off Arcadie."

Along the selfsame way I fare

And the shepherds ask of me,

"Hast thou seen the sweet land anywhere?"

"Yea, but the people dwelling there

Know not 'tis Arcadie."

MARTIAL TO PLINY

Cum rosa regnat, cum madent capilli,

Nunc me vel rigidi legant Catones.

Come not with wine drops on the hair

To Pliny's gates,

To whom all earnest thoughts repair,

And quiet Wisdom entered there

His bidding waits.

When the rose is queen and the hair is wet

With wine and oil,

Read Martial's verses, and forget

That life is stern, and time a debt

To pay with toil.