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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace

With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition
  

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Ode IV. The Praises of Drusus.
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Ode IV. The Praises of Drusus.

As the majestic Bird of towering Kind,
Who bears the Thunder through th'ætherial Space,
(To whom the Monarch of the Gods assign'd
Dominion o'er the vagrant, feather'd Race,
His Faith approv'd, when to the distant Skies
From Ida's Top he bore the Phrygian Prize)
Sprung from his Nest, by sprightly Youth inspir'd,
Fledg'd, and exulting in his native Might,
Novice to Toils, but as the Clouds retir'd,
And gentler Gales provok'd a bolder Flight,
On sailing Wings through yielding Air explor'd
Unwonted Paths, and panted while he soar'd:

357

Anon to ravage in the fleecy Fold,
The glowing Ardour of his princely Heart
Pour'd the beak'd Foe; now more maturely bold
With Talons fierce precipitant to dart
On Dragons fell, reluctant in the Fray;
Such is his Thirst for Battle, and for Prey.
Or as a Lion through the Forest stalks,
Wean'd by the tawny Dam from milky Food;
A Goat descries him from her flowery Walks,
First doom'd to stain his youthful Jaws with Blood:
So Drusus look'd tremendous to his Foes,
Beneath the frozen Height of Alpine Snows.
The Rhœtian Bands beheld him such in War,
Those daring Bands, who with triumphant Joy
Were wont to spread their baneful Terrours far,
Tam'd by the Conduct of the martial Boy,
Felt what true Courage could atchieve, when led
By bright Example, and by Virtue bred;

359

Felt how Augustus with paternal Mind
Fir'd the young Neroes to heroic Deeds.
The Brave and Good are Copies of their Kind
In Steers laborious; and in generous Steeds
We trace their Sires, nor can the Bird of Jove,
Intrepid, fierce, beget th'unwarlike Dove.
Yet sage Instructions, to refine the Soul,
And raise the Genius, wonderous Aid impart,
Conveying, inward as they purely roll,
Strength to the Mind, and Vigour to the Heart:
When Morals fail, the Stains of Vice disgrace
The fairest Honours of the noblest Race.
How much the Grandeur of thy rising State
Owes to the Neroes, Rome imperial, say;
Witness Metaurus and the dismal Fate
Of vanquish'd Asdrubal, and that glad Day,
Which first auspicious, as the Darkness fled,
O'er Latium's Face a Tide of Glory shed.

361

Through wide Hesperia's towering Cities, crush'd
With hideous Fall and Desolation dire,
Impetuous, wild the Carthaginian rush'd,
As through the pitchy Pines destructive Fire
Devours its Course, or howling Eurus raves,
And posting rides the mad Sicilian Waves.
The Roman Youth, still growing by their Toils
Have reap'd the Harvest of the vengeful Sword,
And seen those Temples, which were once the Spoils
Of Tyrian Rapine, to their Gods restor'd;
When faithless Hannibal at length express'd
The boding Sorrows of his anxious Breast:

363

Like Stags, of coward Kind, the destin'd Prey
Of ravening Wolves, we unprovok'd defy
Those, whom to baffle is our fairest Play,
The richest Triumph we can boast, to fly;
For mark that Race, from burning Troy which bore
Their Sons and Sages to the Latian Shore:
That Race, long tost upon the Tuscan Waves,
Are like an Oak upon the woody Top
Of shaded Algidus, bestrow'd with Leaves,
Which, as keen Axes its green Honours lop,
Through Wounds, through Losses no Decay can feel,
Collecting Strength, and Spirit from the Steel.
Not Hydra stronger, when dismember'd, rose
Against Alomena's much-enduring Son,
Grieving to find, from his repeated Blows
The Foe redoubled, and his Toil begun.
Nor Colchos teem'd, nor Echionian Thebes
A feller Monster from their bursting Glebes.
In Ocean plunge them, up they buoy more bright;
At Arms oppose them, they shall rout your Train
In Force united, and approv'd in Fight,
With total Ruin on the dusty Plain,
And Battles wage, to be the future Boast
Of their proud Consorts o'er our vanquish'd Host.

365

To lofty Carthage I no more shall send
Vaunts of my Deeds, and Heralds of my Fame;
My boundless Hopes, alas! are at an End
With all the flowing Fortune of our Name:
Those boundless Hopes, that flowing Fortune, all
Are dash'd, and bury'd in my Brother's Fall.
The Claudian Race, those Favourites of the Skies
No Toil shall damp, no Fortitude withstand;
Superior they to Difficulties rise,
Whom Jove protects with an indulgent Hand,
Whom cautious Cares, preventing Wiles afar,
Guide through the Perils of tumultuous War.