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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Ode VI. To Septimius.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
149
Ode VI. To Septimius.
Septimius, who hast vow'd to go
With Horace even to farthest Spain,
Or see the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
Untaught to bear the Roman Chain,
Or the barbaric Syrts, with mad Recoil
Where Mauritanian Billows ceaseless boil;
With Horace even to farthest Spain,
Or see the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
Untaught to bear the Roman Chain,
Or the barbaric Syrts, with mad Recoil
Where Mauritanian Billows ceaseless boil;
May Tibur to my latest Hours
Afford a kind and calm Retreat;
Tibur, beneath whose lofty Towers
The Grecians fix'd their blissful Seat;
There may my Labours end, my Wandering cease,
There all my Toils of Warfare rest in Peace.
Afford a kind and calm Retreat;
Tibur, beneath whose lofty Towers
The Grecians fix'd their blissful Seat;
There may my Labours end, my Wandering cease,
There all my Toils of Warfare rest in Peace.
But should the partial Fates refuse
That purer Air to let me breathe,
Galesus, gentle Stream, I'll chuse,
Where Flocks of richest Fleeces bathe:
Phalantus there his rural Sceptre sway'd,
Uncertain Offspring of a Spartan Maid.
That purer Air to let me breathe,
Galesus, gentle Stream, I'll chuse,
Where Flocks of richest Fleeces bathe:
Phalantus there his rural Sceptre sway'd,
Uncertain Offspring of a Spartan Maid.
151
No Spot so joyous smiles to Me
Of this wide Globe's extended Shores;
Where nor the Labours of the Bee
Yield to Hymettus' golden Stores,
Nor the green Berry of Venafran Soil
Swells with a riper Flood of fragrant Oil.
Of this wide Globe's extended Shores;
Where nor the Labours of the Bee
Yield to Hymettus' golden Stores,
Nor the green Berry of Venafran Soil
Swells with a riper Flood of fragrant Oil.
There Jove his kindest Gifts bestows,
There joys to crown the fertile Plains,
With genial Warmth the Winter glows,
And Spring with lengthen'd Honours reigns,
Nor Aulon, friendly to the cluster'd Vine,
Envies the Vintage of Falernian Wine.
There joys to crown the fertile Plains,
With genial Warmth the Winter glows,
And Spring with lengthen'd Honours reigns,
Nor Aulon, friendly to the cluster'd Vine,
Envies the Vintage of Falernian Wine.
That happy Place, that sweet Retreat,
The charming Hills that round it rise,
Your latest Hours and mine await,
And when at length your Horace dies,
There the deep Sigh thy Poet-Friend shall mourn,
And pious Tears bedew his glowing Urn.
The charming Hills that round it rise,
Your latest Hours and mine await,
And when at length your Horace dies,
There the deep Sigh thy Poet-Friend shall mourn,
And pious Tears bedew his glowing Urn.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |