Lyre O’er Lea: Veni, Vidi, Vici

'Fore murmurs of Jove send heralds alight,

Slight of rein in near thrice summers' score.

Bore was his blood by a midwife's blade's rite;

Recite from the sightless bard and ailing hermit's lore.

Tore from the cloth of that Great thunderous oak's height,

Rights of his countrymen is by what he swore.

War he hath waged and seethed beyond known sight,

Might of the phalanxs' spears and gladius' roar.

For whence the bloodstone be spent and debts turned right,

Night revealed sweet Selene fully ascended to restore.

Four mummers of Jove beheld such a vehement sight,

Sleight of vows and a dance of daggers upon whom they abhor.

For the Ides would end for he, and he forevermore.