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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 IX. To Lollius.
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Ode IX. To Lollius.

While with the Grecian Bards I vye,
And raptur'd tune the social String,
Think not the Song shall ever die,
Which with no vulgar Art I sing,
Though born where Aufid rolls his sounding Stream,
In Lands far distant from poetic Fame.
What though the Muse her Homer thrones
High above all th'immortal Quire,
Nor Pindar's Rapture She disowns,
Nor hides the plaintive Cæan Lyre;
Alcæus strikes the Tyrant's Soul with dread,
Nor yet is grave Stesichorus unread.

383

Whatever old Anacreon sung,
However tender was the Lay,
In spite of Time is ever young,
Nor Sappho's amorous Flames decay;
Her living Songs preserve their charming Art,
Her Love still breathes the Passions of her Heart.
Helen was not the only Fair,
By an unhappy Passion fir'd,
Who the lewd Ringlets of the Hair
Of an adulterous Beau admir'd;
Court Arts, Gold Lace, and Equipage have Charms
To tempt weak Woman to a Stranger's Arms.
Nor first from Teucer's vengeful Bow
The feather'd Death unerring flew,
Nor was the Greek the single Foe,
Whose Rage ill-fated Ilion knew;
Greece had with Heroes fill'd th'embattled Plain,
Worthy the Muse in her sublimest Strain.
Nor Hector first transported heard
With fierce Delight the War's Alarms,
Nor brave Deïphobus appear'd
Amid the tented Field in Arms,
With glorious Ardour prodigal of Life,
To guard a darling Son, and faithful Wife.

385

Before great Agamemnon reign'd,
Reign'd Kings as great as He, and brave,
Whose huge Ambition's now contain'd
In the small Compass of a Grave;
In endless Night they sleep, unwept, unknown,
No Bard had They to make all Time their own.
In Earth if it forgotten lies,
What is the Valour of the Brave?
What Difference, when the Coward dies,
And sinks in Silence to his Grave?
Nor, Lollius, will I not thy Praise proclaim,
But from Oblivion vindicate thy Fame.
Nor shall its livid Power conceal
Thy Toils—how glorious to the State!
How constant to the public Weal
Through all the doubtful Turns of Fate!
Thy steady Soul, by long Experience found
Erect alike, when Fortune smil'd, or frown'd.
Villains, in public Rapine bold,
Lollius, the just Avenger, dread,
Who never by the Charms of Gold,
Shining Seducer! was misled;
Beyond thy Year such Virtue shall extend,
And Death alone thy Consulate shall end.

387

Perpetual Magistrate is He,
Who keeps strict Justice full in Sight;
With Scorn rejects th'Offender's Fee,
Nor weighs Convenience against Right;
Who bids the Croud at awful Distance gaze,
And Virtue's Arms victoriously displays.
Not He, of Wealth immense possest,
Tasteless who piles his massy Gold,
Among the Number of the Blest
Should have his glorious Name enroll'd;
He better claims the glorious Name, who knows
With Wisdom to enjoy what Heaven bestows:
Who knows the Wrongs of Want to bear,
Even in its lowest, last Extreme;
Yet can with conscious Virtue fear,
Far worse than Death, a Deed of Shame;
Undaunted, for his Country or his Friend,
To sacrifice his Life—O glorious End.