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The tender, torpid sun floats bored and heavy over vines
And casts his gentle, crimson rays upon the Apennines. 
Above the calm and golden hill, Agrippa’s villa stands:
A marble mansion reigning firm atop the ripened lands. 

The day is old; the evening star awakes its tender spark
To guide the laborers’ return from toil before the dark. 
Before the peaceful manor’s lush and ivied colonnade,
Two soft, enamored voices hide and whisper in the shade:

“O, wretchedness! We are so far from our Brittonic home!
What good is Rome’s dull paradise if freely we can’t roam?!
Though our great master’s generous and shelters us from sweat,
Our dormant woods of Albion are fair and greener yet!”

“Along the rill we’d walk each night to watch its grace unfold,
Until by shackles we were seized and then to Cæsar sold. 
Farewell, sweet home, your pristine shores we’ll never see again,
Nor hear the light and gleeful song of the belovèd wren!”

“Our peaceful isle’s been conquered too and promptly overrun
By clouds of war which overthrew the power of the sun. 
Forever shall our humble land be bound to foreign whim;
Too hopeless is her future now, forlorn and surely dim!”

“Do not despair, my love,” replied at once the other voice,
“Though we do not, in distant days, our people shall rejoice!
Once Rome grows old, her force shall wane and our descendants’ tongue
Will grow deep roots on all the globe and own it before long.”

“Our bold successors will awake and, with a mighty strike, 
Will seize yet undiscovered lands and own them all alike. 
Their workings and their industry will spread their wondrous wings
‘Til even Clio’s harp pays heed, and these great exploits sings.”

“Though now unfavored and dismissed on Caesar’s kingdom’s fringe, 
One day, on our fair Albion the world’s full fate shall hinge.
The choicest treasures of the past in there will find abode,
And to the greatest minds and bards she’ll be sweet mother lode.”

“Her kings and queens shall rule their realm in an unbroken line
And make our island’s fame unmatched: both splendid and divine. 
How ancient will our world then be, and surely long extinct, 
Although, by then, the universe will have but barely blinked!”

“And yet, what pride and joy it is to know that our own kin
Shall be the heirs of the sun’s grace, like planets as they spin!
Most fortunate we are, indeed, to know that humankind 
A future nobler than our own on Earth shall never find!”

Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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