The works of Horace, translated into verse With a prose interpretation, for the help of students. And occasional notes. By Christopher Smart ... In four volumes |
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| XIX. | ODE XIX. ON BACCHUS. |
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 | The works of Horace, translated into verse |  |
213
ODE XIX. ON BACCHUS.
Filled with the deity, the poet sings his praises.
(Posterity believe my lay)
Teaching the science of poetic feet,
While nymphs and satyrs listen'd in the rocks secrete.
Ha! ha! this lab'ring breast of mine
Is shock'd anew—and fraught with wine;
My heart is joy—ha! ha! my Bacchus spare,
Nor rear thine ivy wand too terrible to bear.
Now the mad Thyads I can sing,
Which struck out wine's perennial spring;
And rivers that with milky current glide,
And honey trickling down from hollow rocks beside.
Now can I sing the brilliant dame
Of heav'n, thy celebrated flame,
The tow'rs of Pentheus levell'd with the ground,
And downfal of Lycurgus to thy praise resound.
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You those barbarian seas restrain,
You in the sacred mountains debonaire
Bind in serpentine knot unhurt your handmaid's hair.
You, when the bands of giants rose
Th'almighty father to depose,
The lion's fangs and horrid jaws assum'd,
Drove Rhœcus back to earth, and to destruction doom'd.
Tho' dance, and lively jests, and sport
For thee were fitter by report,
Nor did your military talents strike,
Yet facts have shewn thee proof for peace and war alike.
Thee with your golden horn bedight,
Saw Cerberus devoid of spite,
And when from hell you made your last retreat,
His tail he kindly wagg'd, and gently lick'd your feet.
| The works of Horace, translated into verse | |