"F_rom cups of gold--to Fortune dear_
B_ecause his laden argosy_
C_rosses, unshattered, thrice a year_
T_he storm-vexed Midland sea_.

"R_ipe berries from the olive bough_,
M_allows and endives, be my fare_.
S_on of Latona, hear my vow!_
A_pollo, grant my prayer!_

"H_ealth to enjoy the blessings sent_
F_rom heaven; a mind unclouded, strong_;
A_ cheerful heart; a wise content_;
A_n honored age; and song_."

This is not the prayer of the city-bred formalist. It reflects the heart
of humble breeding and sympathies. For the faith which really sets the
poet aglow we must go into the fields and hamlets of Italy, among the
householders who were the descendants of the long line of Italian
forefathers that had worshiped from time immemorial the same gods at the
same altars in the same way. They were not the gods of yesterday,
imported from Greece and Egypt, and splendid with display, but the
simple gods of farm and fold native to the soil of Italy. Whatever his
conception of the logic of it all, Horace felt a powerful appeal as he
contemplated the picturesqueness of the worship and the simplicity of
the worshiper, and reflected upon its genuineness and purity as
contrasted with what his worldly wisdom told him of the heart of the
urban worshiper.