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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 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
420
ODE II. To Antonius Julus.
Whoe'er would soar to Pindar's HeightAttempts a bold but dangerous Flight
On waxen Wings, and, lost to Shame,
Will give, like Icarus, the Sea a Name.
As, rais'd above its Banks by Showers,
A River from a Mountain pours,
Rolls Pindar his impetuous Song,
And with resistless Fury sweeps along.
Justly he claims Apollo's Bays,
Whether in free unfetter'd Lays,
Thro' Dithyrambic Metre bold,
New Words with lawless Energy are roll'd;
Or whether he, in measur'd Verse,
Of Gods, or Chiefs, the Praise rehearse;
Chiefs, sprung from Gods, whose Force could tame
[illeg.] Centaurs Might, and quench Chimæra's Flame.
421
He of her Consort's Loss complains,
And to the Stars exalts the Youth,
For Courage, Piety, and ancient Truth;
Or if the Hero, crown'd with Palms,
Or Victor Courser he embalms,
His lasting Lays in Worth surpass
The breathing Marble, and sepulchral Brass!
When the Dircæan Swan would rise,
A Whirlwind bears him to the Skies:
But as the Bee, with ceaseless Toil,
From each fair Flower collects her balmy Spoil;
Laborious thus my weaker Muse
Light Themes in Tibur's Bower pursues:
But You shall to a bolder String
The just Applause of matchless Cæsar sing;
While round his Head the Laurel weaves,
For Conquests won, her verdant Leaves;
And the Sicambrian we survey,
In Fetters dragg'd along the Sacred Way.
Never was Gift so good and great
Bestow'd on Man by Heaven, or Fate,
Nor shall again, should Time be roll'd,
With backward Course, to his primæval Gold.
422
The Feasts that Rome to Cæsar pays;
The City's public Sports; the Bar
Freed from litigious Suits, and noisy War.
I too, with feeble Voice, will join
My Song to Your's; ‘O Phœbus! shine
‘Auspicious, with thy brightest Ray,
‘And grace the Rites of this distinguish'd Day.’
Then Incense to the Gods shall rise,
And shouting Iös rend the Skies;
All Rome shall join in choral Song,
As Cæsar's Train triumphant moves along.
Your Vow ten Bulls, as many Kine
Absolve; a sportive Heifer mine,
Wean'd from his Mother; on whose Brows,
Full in the Front, a Star its Lustre shows;
A Gloss of fallow Hue adorns
His Skin; the Crescent of his Horns,
So sharply turn'd, salutes the Sight,
Like Cynthia's Fires, the third revolving Night.
J. D.
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