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 VIII. To Barine.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Ode VIII. To Barine.
If e'er th'insulted Powers had shed
The slightest Vengeance on thy Head,
If but a Nail or Tooth of Thee
Were blacken'd by thy Perjury,
Again thy Falshood might deceive,
And I the faithless Vow believe.
But when, Perfidious, you engage
To meet high Heaven's vindictive Rage,
You rise, with heighten'd Lustre fair,
Of all our Youth the public Care.
It thrives with Thee to be forsworn
By thy dead Mother's hallow'd Urn:
By Heaven, and all the Stars, that roll
In silent Circuit round the Pole;
By Heaven and every nightly Sign,
By every deathless Power divine;
For Venus laughs at all thy Wiles,
The gentle Nymphs behold with Smiles,
And, with the Blood of some poor Swain,
By thy perfidious Beauty slain,
Fierce Cupid whets his burning Darts,
For Thee to wound new Lovers Hearts.
The slightest Vengeance on thy Head,
If but a Nail or Tooth of Thee
Were blacken'd by thy Perjury,
Again thy Falshood might deceive,
And I the faithless Vow believe.
But when, Perfidious, you engage
To meet high Heaven's vindictive Rage,
You rise, with heighten'd Lustre fair,
Of all our Youth the public Care.
It thrives with Thee to be forsworn
By thy dead Mother's hallow'd Urn:
By Heaven, and all the Stars, that roll
In silent Circuit round the Pole;
By Heaven and every nightly Sign,
By every deathless Power divine;
159
The gentle Nymphs behold with Smiles,
And, with the Blood of some poor Swain,
By thy perfidious Beauty slain,
Fierce Cupid whets his burning Darts,
For Thee to wound new Lovers Hearts.
Thy Train of Slaves grows every Day,
Infants are rising to thy Sway,
And They, who swore to break thy Chain,
Yet haunt those impious Doors again.
Thee Mothers for their Striplings fear,
The Father trembles for his Heir,
And weeping stands the Virgin-Bride,
In Hymen's Fetters newly tied,
Lest You detain, with brighter Charms,
Her perjur'd Husband from her Arms.
Infants are rising to thy Sway,
And They, who swore to break thy Chain,
Yet haunt those impious Doors again.
Thee Mothers for their Striplings fear,
The Father trembles for his Heir,
And weeping stands the Virgin-Bride,
In Hymen's Fetters newly tied,
Lest You detain, with brighter Charms,
Her perjur'd Husband from her Arms.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |