The Odes and Epodon of Horace, In Five Books :: :: University of Virginia Library

O Goddess, which most grateful Antium sways,
Still present power from lowest Earth to raise
Mortals up, or triumph proud
With slaughters, Funerals to cloud;

Thee courts with anxious Pray'r, the Husband-man,
Poor rural Brood: thee who Carpathian
Brine provokes with sturdy Oares,
As Empress of the Seas implores.

The Dacian fierce, wide-rambling Scythian thee
Do fear, wall'd Towns, unconquer'd Italy:
Wombs that foster'd barb'rous Kings,
Purple-cloath'd Monarchs in their Springs;

Lest with injurious foot thou shouldst ore-turn
Their standing props of State, or people burn
Through lawless Rage; force peaceful Men
To arms, just Rule confounded them.

Thee ushers still severe Necessity,
In whose brass Hand those riving Wedges be,
Monstrous Nails, sharp Clinches too,
With molten Lead past strength t'undo:

Hope too, rare Faith (since worship still) attend,
Clad in white Robes, nor thee renounce for Friend;
Pomp though lately chang'd, as Foe,
Thou didst their pow'rful Seats forgoe.

But that unfaithful Croud, and perjur'd Whore
Shrink basely back; false Friends do soon give o're,
And avoid the dreggish Tun;
Kind simpathizing Yoaks dosy shun.

Our CÆSAR Shield, to th' Britains marching now,
Furthest o'th' World; new raised Bands guard thou,
Which may form to th' Earth a Law,
And red-cheek't Western Main o're-aw.

Alas! we now blush for our Civil Skars,
Last Brethren, Rapes; what mischief worst in Wars
Has this hard Age declin'd? what stands
Untouch't? or whence have bolder hands

Withdrawn through fear o'th' Gods? What Altar spar'd
Inviolate? O, wouldst thou these impar'd,
Blunted Swords but forge anew,
'Gainst Massagets, th' Arabian Crew.