With honest fervour I commendThose lips, those eyes; you need not fearA rival, hurrying on to endHis fortieth year.Septimius, who with me would braveFar Gades, and Cantabrian landUntamed by Rome, and Moorish waveThat whirls the sand;Fair Tibur, town of Argive kings,There would I end my days serene,At rest from seas and travellings,And service seen.Should angry Fate those wishes foil,Then let me seek Galesus, sweetTo skin-clad sheep, and that rich soil,The Spartan's seat.O, what can match the green recess,Whose honey not to Hybla yields,Whose olives vie with those that blessVenafrum's fields?