To Lar

No more shall I, since I am driven hence,Devote to thee my grains of frankincense;No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down,To honour thee, my little parsley crown;No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bringMy chives of garlic for an offering;No more shall I from henceforth hear a choirOf merry crickets by my country fire.Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here,Warm by a glitt'ring chimney all the year.