The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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A Translation of Ode iii. l. 1. in Horace. |
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
A Translation of Ode iii. l. 1. in Horace.
Sic te Diva potens Cypri,
Sic Fratres Helenæ lucida Sydera, &c.
Sic Fratres Helenæ lucida Sydera, &c.
Address'd to his Honour'd Friend Mr. B---
going into Turkey.
I
So may the Beauteous Goddess of the MainAppease the Horrors of the Deep,
And Æolus lock all his blustring Train,
But the auspicious Western Gales, asleep.
II
And thou, kind Vessel, which before this Day,So great a Charge cou'd'st never boast,
With Care my dearer, better Part convey,
And land him safely on the Thracian Coast.
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III
His fearless Heart immur'd with tripple Brass.The daring Mortal surely wore,
Who first the faithless Main durst pass,
And in a treacherous Bark new Worlds explore.
IV
What Scenes of Death cou'd shake his SoulThat unconcern'd saw the wild Billows rise,
And scaly Monsters on the Surface rowl,
And Whizzing Meteors paint the gloomy Skies.
V
In vain wise Heav'ns indulgent CareLands from the spacious Ocean did divide;
If with expanded Sails bold Ships prepare
To plow the Deep, and brave the swelling Tide;
VI
But Man, that busie reasoning Tool,Cheap Happiness disdains to choose:
Sick of his Ease, the restless Fool,
At his own Cost forbidden Paths pursues,
VII
From the refulgent Orb of DayA glitt'ring Spark the rash Prometheus stole,
And fondly stampt into a Soul,
T'inform his new-made Progeny of Clay.
VIII
Strait to reward his Sacrilegious Theft,Fevers and Ills, unknown before,
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And thro' the sickning Air their baleful Poysons bore.
IX
Then Death, that lately travell'd slow,Content with single Victims, where he came,
Made Haste, and eager of his Game,
Whole Nations lopp'd at one compendious Blow.
X
To what fantastic Heights does Man aspire,Doom'd to dull Earth; the Sot wou'd clamber higher;
Heav'n he invades with impudent Pretence,
And makes Jove thunder in his own Defence.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |