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| XIV. |
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| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) |  |
111
ODE XIV. To Augustus.
Can sounding Titles, or can solemn Days
Secure the never-dying Praise?
How shall the State preserve thy Fame,
And eternize thy high Renown,
Thou greatest Prince, and brightest Name,
That ever rival'd the less glorious Sun?
The distant Alps have felt thy Pow'r in War,
And Lands that ne'er till now a Roman Yoke could bear.
Secure the never-dying Praise?
How shall the State preserve thy Fame,
And eternize thy high Renown,
Thou greatest Prince, and brightest Name,
That ever rival'd the less glorious Sun?
The distant Alps have felt thy Pow'r in War,
And Lands that ne'er till now a Roman Yoke could bear.
Young Drusus did thy conqu'ring Squadrons lead,
And fill'd the Savage World with Dread:
How many Fields and Towns he won?
Whilst the high Alps thy Thunders shook,
Tiberius drove as bravely on;
Through Foes untam'd the Victor broke:
To him in Chains the vanquish'd Rhæti bow'd,
Whose white discolour'd Hills were stain'd with native Blood.
And fill'd the Savage World with Dread:
How many Fields and Towns he won?
Whilst the high Alps thy Thunders shook,
Tiberius drove as bravely on;
Through Foes untam'd the Victor broke:
To him in Chains the vanquish'd Rhæti bow'd,
Whose white discolour'd Hills were stain'd with native Blood.
Like Mars, the Conqueror in Arms appear'd;
No Death he shunn'd, no Danger fear'd:
So much his Soul his Arms out-flies,
Destruction hardly could keep pace;
Thus when the Pleiades arise,
The Tempest scours along the Seas.
The Troops gave way where'er young Cæsar rod,
Whilst on the flying Crowd, and slaughter'd Heaps he trod.
No Death he shunn'd, no Danger fear'd:
So much his Soul his Arms out-flies,
Destruction hardly could keep pace;
Thus when the Pleiades arise,
The Tempest scours along the Seas.
The Troops gave way where'er young Cæsar rod,
Whilst on the flying Crowd, and slaughter'd Heaps he trod.
As Ausidus, when rais'd with sudden Rains,
Rolls swiftly thro' Apulia's Plains,
And proudly threatens, as he flows,
The Banks and subject Meads to drown;
So Claudius rushes on his Foes,
And mows the Iron Harvest down:
Thousands and Thousands fall on ev'ry Side;
Himself is all the War, whilst not a Roman dy'd.
Rolls swiftly thro' Apulia's Plains,
And proudly threatens, as he flows,
The Banks and subject Meads to drown;
112
And mows the Iron Harvest down:
Thousands and Thousands fall on ev'ry Side;
Himself is all the War, whilst not a Roman dy'd.
But with your Conduct and your Troops he fought,
You to the Field your Omens brought;
For on the same successful Day,
As thrice three Years their Course had run,
Young Cæsar bore the Prize away,
And Fortune did her Fav'rite crown,
When captive Alexandria's open Port
Smooth'd your auspicious Way to Cleopatra's Court.
You to the Field your Omens brought;
For on the same successful Day,
As thrice three Years their Course had run,
Young Cæsar bore the Prize away,
And Fortune did her Fav'rite crown,
When captive Alexandria's open Port
Smooth'd your auspicious Way to Cleopatra's Court.
The warlike Thracian, never tam'd till now,
And Scythian to thy Arms shall bow;
Tigris and Ister own thy Pow'r,
And Nile who hides his watry Head;
Thy Terrors reach the Indian Shore,
Thy Empire stretches to the Mede:
The World's wide Confines with a suppliant Knee
Stoop to Imperial Rome, Imperial Rome to thee.
And Scythian to thy Arms shall bow;
Tigris and Ister own thy Pow'r,
And Nile who hides his watry Head;
Thy Terrors reach the Indian Shore,
Thy Empire stretches to the Mede:
The World's wide Confines with a suppliant Knee
Stoop to Imperial Rome, Imperial Rome to thee.
The British Seas grow calm beneath thy Sway,
Where rolling Monsters on the Billows play:
The haughty Gaul, untaught to fear,
With those of Germany and Spain,
Thy gentle Yoke with Patience bear,
With Pleasure wear the Roman Chain:
All drop their Arms, obsequious to thy Nod,
And where they felt the Victor, now confess the God.
Where rolling Monsters on the Billows play:
The haughty Gaul, untaught to fear,
With those of Germany and Spain,
Thy gentle Yoke with Patience bear,
With Pleasure wear the Roman Chain:
All drop their Arms, obsequious to thy Nod,
And where they felt the Victor, now confess the God.
| The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) | |