"W_hen, kneeling at Apollo's shrine_, T_he bard from silver goblet pours_ L_ibations due of votive wine_, W_hat seeks he, what implores_? "N_ot harvests from Sardinia's shore_; N_ot grateful herds that crop the lea_ I_n hot Calabria; not a store_ O_f gold, and ivory_; "N_ot those fair lands where slow and deep_ T_hro' meadows rich and pastures gay_ T_hy silent waters, Liris, creep_, E_ating the marge away_. "L_et him to whom the gods award_ C_alenian vineyards prune the vine_; T_he merchant sell his balms and nard_, A_nd drain the precious wine_ "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.