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The Odes and Epodon of Horace, In Five Books

Translated into English by J. H. [i.e. John Harington]

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To AUGUSTUS. Ode XII.
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To AUGUSTUS. Ode XII.

Praising some Gods and famous Men, he descends to the Praises of Augustus.

What Hero wilt thou sing to Fame,
CLIO, with Harp or Pipe more shrill?
What God whom Eccho chants by name?
Sound's Image still.
Transfer'd to th' Heliconian Grove,
Dard Pindus, or mount Hæmus high;
Whence Woods with ORPHEUS voice did rove
Confusedly.
Who learn'd in's Mothers Art; swift course
Of Torrents stop'd, Winds boistrous wings,
Led hearkening Oaks with gentle force,
Sweet-sounded Strings.
What can I speak before the Praise
O'th' Parent here? who Gods and Men.
Seas, Land conforms; with Time doth grace
The World's vast Scene.
Whence greater nought then Self produc'd,
Nor like succeeding flourishes:
Next honour though, for worth infus'd,
PALLAS possess.
Nor bold in Arms, shall I o're-shroud
Thine BACCHUS; thine, chast Virgin-foe
To rav'ning Beasts; nor PHÆBUS cloud
With surest Bow.
ALCIDES sung joyn'd LEDA'S Sons;
This hors'd, that more on foot renown'd
In fight; whose Stars when shining once
To Seamen found.

12

Tost Waves retreat from Rocks again;
Hush'd Winds withdraw, Clouds take their flight;
Fierce billows couch'd i'th dreadful Main,
Aw'd by their Light.
Should I chant next Romulean Merit?
POMPIL'S soft Raign? Rods proudly born
'Fore TARQUIN first, or CATO'S spirit,
which Death did scorn?
REG'LUS, wise SCAURI, PAULUS strong,
(Profuse of greatest Soul when dy'd)
My Thanks shall yield most lofty Song:
FABRITIUS try'd.
Stout CURIUS, though rude-crested round
CAMILLUS, last, sharp Want made fit
For warlike use on Grandsire's ground;
Mean house to it.
MARCELLUS Fame, (immortal Plant)
Still grows; that Julian Star aspires,
Glisters to th' rest as Moon doth vaunt
'Mongst smaller Fires:
Thou Father, Guard of humane kind,
From SATURN sprung, t'whom does pertain,
Great CÆSAR'S Charge, next thee design'd
Let Cæsar raign.
Let him, whilest Parthian rout o're-bold
Does (Conqueror) in triumph lead,
Seres which the Eastern fields behold,
Those Indian-bred.
Vast Earth command; less found than thee;
Just Prince: with weighty'st Charret thou
Shake Heav'n, those Groves that impious be
Let Thunder plough.