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 | ||
ODE VII. To Munatius Plancus.
Some Bards extoll in lofty Lays
Fam'd Rhodes', or Mitylené's Praise:
Thebes, dear to Bacchus, some inspires,
And some Apollo's Delphos fires,
Or Ephesus, or Tempe's Plain,
Or Corinth with her double Main.
Others, untir'd, in endless Verse
Minerva's Tow'rs alone rehearse;
And hence the Olive, lov'd by her,
To every other Tree prefer.
While some, in Juno's Praise, proclaim
Her Argos', or Mycenæ's Fame;
Mycenæ's Realm, with Plenty crown'd,
And Argos' Lawns, for Steeds renown'd.
But neither patient Sparta's Fields,
Nor all the Charms Larissa yields
Of Hill and Valley, please me more
Than hoarse Albunea's deaf'ning Roar,
And Anio rolling in Cascades,
And Tibur's Grove, where thro' the Shades
The Stream, with slow meändring Waves,
My Plancus' Meads and Garden laves.
Fam'd Rhodes', or Mitylené's Praise:
Thebes, dear to Bacchus, some inspires,
And some Apollo's Delphos fires,
Or Ephesus, or Tempe's Plain,
Or Corinth with her double Main.
Others, untir'd, in endless Verse
Minerva's Tow'rs alone rehearse;
And hence the Olive, lov'd by her,
To every other Tree prefer.
While some, in Juno's Praise, proclaim
Her Argos', or Mycenæ's Fame;
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And Argos' Lawns, for Steeds renown'd.
But neither patient Sparta's Fields,
Nor all the Charms Larissa yields
Of Hill and Valley, please me more
Than hoarse Albunea's deaf'ning Roar,
And Anio rolling in Cascades,
And Tibur's Grove, where thro' the Shades
The Stream, with slow meändring Waves,
My Plancus' Meads and Garden laves.
As Southern Winds oft clear the Sky,
Nor still foretell a Tempest nigh,
Do thou, discreetly, with a Friend
And generous Wine, thy Brows unbend,
Whether the Camp thy Fancy warms,
Or Tibur sooths with peaceful Charms.
When Teucer fled his native Land,
Driv'n by his Father's harsh Command,
(As Fame reports) his reeking Brows
He crown'd with Wreaths of Poplar Boughs,
And, with an animating Look,
His drooping Comrades thus bespoke;
‘Wherever Fortune, less severe
‘Than my stern Sire, our Course shall steer,
‘And point us out the destin'd Way,
‘Chearly we'll follow, and obey.
‘Then let each Fear be laid aside,
‘Teucer's your Leader and your Guide;
‘And faithful Phœbus has foretold,
‘I still my sovereign Pow'r shall hold,
‘And, on some unknown foreign Land,
‘Another Salamis command.
Nor still foretell a Tempest nigh,
Do thou, discreetly, with a Friend
And generous Wine, thy Brows unbend,
Whether the Camp thy Fancy warms,
Or Tibur sooths with peaceful Charms.
When Teucer fled his native Land,
Driv'n by his Father's harsh Command,
(As Fame reports) his reeking Brows
He crown'd with Wreaths of Poplar Boughs,
And, with an animating Look,
His drooping Comrades thus bespoke;
‘Wherever Fortune, less severe
‘Than my stern Sire, our Course shall steer,
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‘Chearly we'll follow, and obey.
‘Then let each Fear be laid aside,
‘Teucer's your Leader and your Guide;
‘And faithful Phœbus has foretold,
‘I still my sovereign Pow'r shall hold,
‘And, on some unknown foreign Land,
‘Another Salamis command.
‘My brave Companions, (who before
‘Worse Ills with me undaunted bore)
‘To-day in Wine drown every Pain,
‘To-morrow we'll set sail again.’
‘Worse Ills with me undaunted bore)
‘To-day in Wine drown every Pain,
‘To-morrow we'll set sail again.’
The Works of Horace In English Verse | ||