The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
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XXIII. | ODE XXIII. To Phidylé.
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The Works of Horace In English Verse | ||
349
ODE XXIII. To Phidylé.
If, each new Moon, my rustic Maid
Is seen with Hands to Heaven display'd,
Why should she seek more Gifts than these,
Th'offended Lares to appease:
New Fruits and Incense let her pay,
And at their Shrine a Porket slay.
Then shall the South her Vineyard spare;
Her Corn be safe from blighting Air;
Nor shall her Kids and Lambkins die,
When sickly Autumn taints the Sky.
Is seen with Hands to Heaven display'd,
Why should she seek more Gifts than these,
Th'offended Lares to appease:
New Fruits and Incense let her pay,
And at their Shrine a Porket slay.
Then shall the South her Vineyard spare;
Her Corn be safe from blighting Air;
Nor shall her Kids and Lambkins die,
When sickly Autumn taints the Sky.
350
Let the devoted Steer, that feeds
Luxuriant in fair Alba's Meads;
Or Algidus, embrown'd with Wood,
The sacred Axes stain with Blood.
In You, my Phidylé, 'twere vain
To strive by Bribes your Gods to gain;
You need but deck their humble Brows
With Rosemary Sprigs and Myrtle Boughs.
Luxuriant in fair Alba's Meads;
Or Algidus, embrown'd with Wood,
The sacred Axes stain with Blood.
In You, my Phidylé, 'twere vain
To strive by Bribes your Gods to gain;
You need but deck their humble Brows
With Rosemary Sprigs and Myrtle Boughs.
Before their Altar if You stand,
And touch it with unblemish'd Hand,
Your Salt and Barley will become
More grateful than a Hecatomb.
And touch it with unblemish'd Hand,
Your Salt and Barley will become
More grateful than a Hecatomb.
The Works of Horace In English Verse | ||