 | The works of the Earl of Roscommon (1749) |  |
THE Twenty Second ODE OF THE First Book of Horace.
Virtue, dear friend, needs no defence,
The surest guard is innocence:
None knew, 'till guilt created fear,
What darts, or poison'd arrows were.
The surest guard is innocence:
None knew, 'till guilt created fear,
What darts, or poison'd arrows were.
Integrity undaunted goes
Through Lybian sands, or Scythian snows,
Or where Hydaspes' wealthy side
Pays tribute to the Persian pride.
Through Lybian sands, or Scythian snows,
Or where Hydaspes' wealthy side
Pays tribute to the Persian pride.
For as, by am'rous thoughts betray'd,
Careless in Sabin woods I stray'd,
A grisly foaming wolf, unfed,
Met me unarm'd, yet, trembling, fled.
Careless in Sabin woods I stray'd,
A grisly foaming wolf, unfed,
Met me unarm'd, yet, trembling, fled.
No beast of more portentous size
In the Hercinian forest lies;
None fiercer, in Numidia bred,
With Carthage were in triumph led.
In the Hercinian forest lies;
None fiercer, in Numidia bred,
With Carthage were in triumph led.
Set me in the remotest place,
That Neptune's frozen arms embrace;
Where angry Jove did never spare
One breath of kind and temp'rate air.
That Neptune's frozen arms embrace;
Where angry Jove did never spare
One breath of kind and temp'rate air.
Set me where on some pathless plain
The swarthy Africans complain,
To see the chariot of the sun
So near their scorching country run.
The swarthy Africans complain,
To see the chariot of the sun
So near their scorching country run.
The burning zone, the frozen isles,
Shall hear me sing of Cælia's smiles:
All cold, but in her breast, I will despise,
And dare all heat, but that of Cælia's eyes.
Shall hear me sing of Cælia's smiles:
All cold, but in her breast, I will despise,
And dare all heat, but that of Cælia's eyes.
| The works of the Earl of Roscommon (1749) | |