Lars Andersonicus Poem by Alexander Anderson

The great Lars Andersonicus,
Who dwelleth in the South,
Who hath the front of Grecian Jove
And the heavy bearded mouth,
He strode into his dwelling,
That white-washed humble home
That overlooks the Tiber,
That rolls round seven-hilled Rome.
And there he found a missive,
Which, when he oped, did say—
'Greetings, Lars Andersonicus,
Taymanium comes your way.
He comes as comes a victor,
Who rides in triumph home,
To pledge in red Falernian juice,
The Romans and their Rome.
So let the streets in gladness
Put forth their best array,
And let the Romans line each side
Along the Appian way.'


The great Lars Andersonicus,
A mighty oath he swore
That he would greet Taymanium
As he ne'er had been before;
So he donned his lordly toga,
And with triumphant soul,
Went forth with haughty royal stride
Till he came to the Capitol.
And then he cried, 'O, Romans,
Come hearken unto me,
Greetings from great Taymanium
To you and unto me.
How shall we give him welcome,
Who comes from far away?
Step forth, thou clear-souled Capys,
And let us hear thy say.'


Forth stept at once bold Capys;
A light shone in his eye,
And he swore by the gods that a Roman swears,
As he raised his hand on high—
'O, great Lars Andersonicus,
Thus shall we greet thy friend,
Let flags along the Sacred Way
Be hung from end to end;
And let the Vestal Virgins,
Who watch the burning shrine,
Twine a wreath of the glorious laurel
From the hill of the Sacred Nine,
And crown him like a victor
Who for our Rome has bled,
Then take him to the banquet,
And let the wine be shed.'


Then said Lars Andersonicus,
'As thou say'st, so let it be.'
And he strode down the stairs of the Capitol
With a heart that beat for glee.


O brave and high Taymanium,
Right welcome shall ye be,
When ye sit beneath my roof-tree
And smoke a pipe with me.
Unto my whitewashed dwelling
What glory shall you lend,
The tribune of the people,
The dauntless 'People's Friend.'


Hurrah for the Roman matron
Who hath upon her knee
The sturdy brood that warms the heart
Of a Roman's wife to see.
Hurrah for her voice's music,
And her soft, dark, sparkling eye,
By the gods! if Andersonicus
Could get—get —.