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 XII. To Mæcenas.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Ode XII. To Mæcenas.
Numantia's Wars, for Years maintain'd,
Or Hannibal's vindictive Ire,
Or Seas with Punic Gore distain'd,
Suit not the Softness of my feeble Lyre;
Or Hannibal's vindictive Ire,
Or Seas with Punic Gore distain'd,
Suit not the Softness of my feeble Lyre;
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Nor the fierce Broils and savage Mirth
Of Centaurs deep with Wine imbru'd;
Nor the gigantic Sons of Earth
By Force Herculean gloriously subdu'd:
Of Centaurs deep with Wine imbru'd;
Nor the gigantic Sons of Earth
By Force Herculean gloriously subdu'd:
That Earth-born Race, with dire Alarms
Who shook the starry Spheres above,
And impious dar'd with horrid Arms
Boldly defy th'Omnipotence of Jove.
Who shook the starry Spheres above,
And impious dar'd with horrid Arms
Boldly defy th'Omnipotence of Jove.
You in historic Prose shall tell
The mighty Power of Cæsar's War;
How Kings beneath his Battle fell,
And drag'd indignant his triumphal Car.
The mighty Power of Cæsar's War;
How Kings beneath his Battle fell,
And drag'd indignant his triumphal Car.
Licymnia's Voice, Licymnia's Eye,
Bright-darting its resplendent Ray,
Her Breast where Love and Friendship lie,
The Muse commands me sing in softer Lay;
Bright-darting its resplendent Ray,
Her Breast where Love and Friendship lie,
The Muse commands me sing in softer Lay;
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In Raillery the sportive Jest,
Graceful her Step in dancing charms,
When playful at Diana's Feast
To the bright Virgin Choir she winds her Arms.
Graceful her Step in dancing charms,
When playful at Diana's Feast
To the bright Virgin Choir she winds her Arms.
Say, shall the Wealth by Kings possest,
Or the rich Diadems They wear,
Or all the Treasures of the East,
Purchase one Lock of my Licymnia's Hair?
Or the rich Diadems They wear,
Or all the Treasures of the East,
Purchase one Lock of my Licymnia's Hair?
While now her bending Neck she plies
Backward to meet the burning Kiss,
Then with an easy Cruelty denies,
And wishes you would snatch, not ask the Bliss.
Backward to meet the burning Kiss,
Then with an easy Cruelty denies,
And wishes you would snatch, not ask the Bliss.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |