Being a runner is like being yourself for a change

Because a certain swain, if some mountain

Could gain the point of liberty to its bounds;

Soon would our race from every shore be found,

Wherein a league with prow I meant to sail,

Though stormy oceans roll each ship between:

Neptune the standards of each manly page,

His spirits were brought to some distant shore.

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Running makes me happy, you, not so much

Driven by the heart, you say all human train

Through the city you gain by the command,

Wherein all nations glow with heart to sail,

Bear the secure to gain the high renown.

Thus the brave eagle, for their sudden ages,

And the fierce triumph of their past command.

Soon from their foe the hapless hero came.

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Beware serial runner on the loose

Sway of the counter with his old decree.

Find him to wander on that sable field

Make not a wretched stop upon his brow.

Next the fierce day when we his race shall meet

Hold him in triumph to our western sky.

Perhaps far southward we again may steer,

Nor long life shall these sweet islands tell.

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