The Assurance Of Horace (Od. Iii. 30.) Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

I have achieved a tower of fame
More durable than gold,
And loftier than the royal frame
Of Pyramids of old,-
Which none inclemencies of clime,
Nor fiercest winds that blow,
Nor endless change, nor lapse of time
Shall ever overthrow!

I cannot perish utterly:
The brighter part of me
Must live - and live - and never die,
But baffle Death's decree!
For I shall always grow, and spread
My new-blown honours still,
Long as the priest and vestal tread
The Capitolian hill.

I shall be sung, where thy rough waves,
My native river, foam,-
And where old Daunus scantly laves
And rules his rustic home;
As chief and first I shall be sung,
Though lowly, great in might
To tune my country's heart and tongue,
And tune them both aright.

Thou, then, my soul, assume thy state,
And take thine honours due;
Be proud, as thy deserts are great,-
To thine own praise be true!
Thou too, celestial Muse, come down,
And with kind haste prepare
The laurel for a Delphic crown
To weave thy Poet's hair.