GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2:2.15.1-2.15.20 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2:2.15.1-2.15.20

Few roods of ground the piles we raiseWill leave to plough; ponds wider spreadThan Lucrine lake will meet the gazeOn every side; the plane unwedWill top the elm; the violet-bed,The myrtle, each delicious sweet,On olive-grounds their scent will shed,Where once were fruit-trees yielding meat;Thick bays will screen the midday rangeOf fiercest suns. Not such the ruleOf Romulus, and Cato sage,And all the bearded, good old school.Each Roman's wealth was little worth,His country's much; no colonnadeFor private pleasance wooed the NorthWith cool “prolixity of shade.”None might the casual sod disdainTo roof his home; a town alone,At public charge, a sacred faneWere honour'd with the pomp of stone.