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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Epode VII. To the Roman People.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Epode VII. To the Roman People.
Whither, Oh! whither do Ye madly run,
The Sword unsheath'd and impious War begun?
Has then too little of the Latian Blood
Been pour'd on Earth, or mix'd with Neptune's Flood?
'Tis not that Romans with avenging Flame
Might burn the Rival of the Roman Name,
Or Britons, yet unbroken to our War,
In Chains should follow our triumphal Car,
But that the Parthian should his Vows enjoy,
And Rome, with impious Hand, Herself destroy.
The Sword unsheath'd and impious War begun?
Has then too little of the Latian Blood
Been pour'd on Earth, or mix'd with Neptune's Flood?
449
Might burn the Rival of the Roman Name,
Or Britons, yet unbroken to our War,
In Chains should follow our triumphal Car,
But that the Parthian should his Vows enjoy,
And Rome, with impious Hand, Herself destroy.
The Rage of Wolves and Lions is confin'd;
They never prey but on a different Kind.
Answer, from Madness rise these Horrours dire?
Does angry Fate, or Guilt your Souls inspire?
Silent they stand; with stupid Wonder gaze,
While the pale Cheek their inward Guilt betrays.
'Tis so—The Fates have cruelly decreed,
That Rome for ancient Fratricide must bleed;
The Brother's Blood, which stain'd our rising Walls,
On his Descendants, loud, for Vengeance calls.
They never prey but on a different Kind.
Answer, from Madness rise these Horrours dire?
Does angry Fate, or Guilt your Souls inspire?
Silent they stand; with stupid Wonder gaze,
While the pale Cheek their inward Guilt betrays.
'Tis so—The Fates have cruelly decreed,
That Rome for ancient Fratricide must bleed;
The Brother's Blood, which stain'd our rising Walls,
On his Descendants, loud, for Vengeance calls.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |