 | The embargo ; or, sketches of the times |  |
36
TRANSLATION FROM HORACE.
LIB. I. CAR. XXII.
THE man whose life, devoid of guile,
Is pure from crimes and passions vile;
Needs not the aid of Moorish art,
The bow, the shaft, and venom'd dart.
Is pure from crimes and passions vile;
Needs not the aid of Moorish art,
The bow, the shaft, and venom'd dart.
Whether he tempt the scorching blast,
Through Lybian sands, a trackless waste;
Rude frosty Caucasus explores,
Or treads Hydaspes' golden shores.
Through Lybian sands, a trackless waste;
Rude frosty Caucasus explores,
Or treads Hydaspes' golden shores.
For late through Sabine woods I rov'd,
Remote, and sung the girl I lov'd,
Careless, unarm'd:—with nimble tread,
A hideous wolf before me fled.
Remote, and sung the girl I lov'd,
Careless, unarm'd:—with nimble tread,
A hideous wolf before me fled.
In warlike Daunia's spacious wood,
Ne'er monster prowl'd of fiercer brood;
Such Mauritania never bore,
Where hungry lions bask and roar.
Ne'er monster prowl'd of fiercer brood;
Such Mauritania never bore,
Where hungry lions bask and roar.
Place me where never genial breeze,
Awakes the flowers, revives the trees;
Where low'ring clouds the skies deform,
And angry Jove impels the storm;
Awakes the flowers, revives the trees;
Where low'ring clouds the skies deform,
And angry Jove impels the storm;
Place me where Sol with scorching rays
Reflects intolerable blaze,—
There shall the fair reward my toils,
Who sweetly speaks, and sweetly smiles.
Reflects intolerable blaze,—
There shall the fair reward my toils,
Who sweetly speaks, and sweetly smiles.
| The embargo ; or, sketches of the times | |