A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Ode XVIII. To Varus.
Round Catilus' Walls, or in Tibur's rich Soil,
To plant the glad Vine be my Varus' first Toil;
For God hath propos'd to the Wretch, who's athirst,
To drink, or with Heart-gnawing Cares to be curst.
Of War, or of Want, who e'er prates o'er his Wine?
For 'tis thine, Father Bacchus, bright Venus, 'tis thine,
To charm all his Cares; yet that no one may pass
The Freedom and Mirth of a temperate Glass,
Let us think on the Lapithæ's Quarrels so dire,
And the Thracians, whom Wine can to Madness inspire:
Insatiate of Liquor when glow their full Veins,
No Distinction of Vice, or of Virtue remains.
To plant the glad Vine be my Varus' first Toil;
For God hath propos'd to the Wretch, who's athirst,
To drink, or with Heart-gnawing Cares to be curst.
Of War, or of Want, who e'er prates o'er his Wine?
For 'tis thine, Father Bacchus, bright Venus, 'tis thine,
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The Freedom and Mirth of a temperate Glass,
Let us think on the Lapithæ's Quarrels so dire,
And the Thracians, whom Wine can to Madness inspire:
Insatiate of Liquor when glow their full Veins,
No Distinction of Vice, or of Virtue remains.
Great God of the Vine, who dost Candour approve,
I ne'er will thy Statues profanely remove;
I ne'er will thy Rites so mysterious betray
To the broad-glaring Eye of the Tale-telling Day.
Oh stop the loud Cymbal, the Cornet's Alarms,
Whose Sound, when the Bacchanal's Bosom it warms,
Arouses Self-love by Blindness misled,
And Vanity lifting aloft the light Head,
And Honour of prodigal Spirit, that shows,
Transparent as Glass, all the Secrets it knows.
I ne'er will thy Statues profanely remove;
I ne'er will thy Rites so mysterious betray
To the broad-glaring Eye of the Tale-telling Day.
Oh stop the loud Cymbal, the Cornet's Alarms,
Whose Sound, when the Bacchanal's Bosom it warms,
Arouses Self-love by Blindness misled,
And Vanity lifting aloft the light Head,
And Honour of prodigal Spirit, that shows,
Transparent as Glass, all the Secrets it knows.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |