University of Virginia Library

EPODE XVI.

The Years bring round the fatal Age,
When Rome shall fall by civil Rage:
Romans by Romans shall be slain;
And Brutes possess the Earth again.
We by ourselves must fall and bleed,
From whom the Marsian Squadrons fled;
Whom nor the Capuan could tame,
Nor Spartacus, a dreaded Name;
Nor Gauls, in wily Falshood skill'd,
Nor Germans in the warlike Field;
Nor Porsena's Etrurian Force,
Nor he whom all our Matrons curse,
A Foe, more terrible than all,
The hated haughty Hannibal.
Barbarians soon shall spoil our Pride,
And Victors o'er our Ruins ride:
From Romulus's sacred Urn,
His injur'd Ashes shall be torn,
(What Roman such a Sight can bear?)
And scatter'd into common Air.
If you enquire, and fain would know,
How we may shun the coming Wo;
Then listen to this best Advice:
Like the Phocæans, timely wise,
Let's fly this Country, and be gone
For ever from this hated Town;
Forsake our Fields, and rich Abodes,
The Shrines and Temples of our Gods;
Where Boars may haunt, and Wolves may stray,
Whilst we are wand'ring far away;
The unknown Seas and Oceans plow,
Where Waves can roll, and Winds can blow.
Speak, or let this Advice prevail,
Before we hoist the fatal Sail,
And in this smiling lucky Hour,
For ever leave the impious Shore.
But first let all the Crew be sworn,
Never to think of a Return;
Till Stones can swim, the silver Po
Run back, and up the Mountains flow;
Till Waves surround the Apennine,
And Brutes in monstrous Couples join;
The Tiger to the Doe make Love,
The Kite address the gentle Dove;
Till Flocks no more the Lion dread,
And Goats are in the Ocean fed.
Thus let us make our Journey sure,
And this accursed Land abjure;
Let not a Mortal stay behind,
To propagate a wicked Kind,
But wretched Slaves to Lust and Fear,
Reserv'd to stay and perish here.
Let not your manly Courage fail,
Whilst by the Tuscan Coast we sail;
A fruitful Shore, and happy Isles,
Shall crown our Travels and our Toils,
Where Fields untill'd the Harvest bear,
And Ceres blesses every Year:
Where Figs and Olive-Trees impart
Rich Plenty, without Care and Art;
Where Honey trickles from the Oak,
And limpid Waters from the Rock;
The Ewes and She-Goats never fail,
But come full-laden to the Pail;
No Wolves disturb the Fold, no Snakes
Hiss from their Holes, or stir the Brakes.
New Scenes of Wonder and Delight,
Affect the Taste, and charm the Sight:
No ruffling Winds, nor adverse Tides,
Disturb the Flood, that smoothly glides;
No Heats the temper'd Climate burn,
Nor nipping Frosts destroy the Corn.
The Argonauts ne'er touch'd this Shore,
A Country un-enjoy'd before;
This Coast Medea never knew,
Nor fam'd Ulysses, and his Crew:
Hither no bold Sidonians steer,
Nor cast their forked Anchors here:
Here no contagious Humours reign,
No fiery Planets scorch the Plain.
For pious Mortals Jove ordain'd,
And set apart this blissful Land,
When first he chang'd the golden Race
To hardy Iron, and to Brass;
Hither, by my Advice, we'll go;
This Country was reserv'd for you.