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Laudabunt Alii

(After Horace)

Let others praise, as fancy wills,Berlin beneath her trees,Or Rome upon her seven hills,Or Venice by her seas;Stamboul by double tides embraced,Or green Damascus in the waste.
For me there's nought I would not leaveFor the good Devon land,Whose orchards down the echoing cleeveBedewed with spray-drift stand,And hardly bear the red fruit upThat shall be next year's cider-cup.
You too, my friend, may wisely markHow clear skies follow rain,And lingering in your own green parkOr drilled on Laffan's Plain,Forget not with the festal bowlTo soothe at times your weary soul.

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