'Resolved that we will post,' the tradesmen say,
'All names of debtors who do never pay.'
'Whose shall be first?' inquires the ready scribe
'Who are the chiefs of the marauding tribe?'
Lo! high Parnassus, lifting from the plain,
Upon his hoary peak, a noble fane!
Within that temple all the names are scrolled
Of village bards upon a slab of gold;
To that bad eminence, my friend, aspire,
And copy thou the Roll of Fame, entire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem