To Q(uintus) H(oratius) F(laccus)
To Q. H. F. the idle band
Of poetasters oft has planned
Tributes of praise—and penned them, too—
For love of verse that keeps its hue
Though dead its language and its land.
True, Pegasus has ever fanned
The ether at a bard’s command,
But ah! how eagerly he flew
To Q. H. F.
Not oversweet or overgrand
Your poems, Horace, hence your stand
Firm in the hearts of men: and few
Have gained a place so clearly due,
Since Death with unrelenting hand,
Took you, H. F.
C. H. Lüders.