The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719)

He, who by Principle is sway'd,
In Truth and Justice still the same;
Is neither of the Crowd afraid,
Though civil Broils the State inflame;
Nor to a haughty Tyrant's Frown will stoop,
Nor to a raging Storm, when all the Winds are up.

Should Nature with Convulsions shake,
Struck with the fiery Bolts of Jove;
The final Doom, and dreadful Crack,
Cannot his constant Courage move:
By Arts like these, Alcides fam'd in Wars,
Was to the Gods advanc'd, and Pollux to the Stars.

With these Augustus, Heav'nly Guest,
Sits down, and puts the Nectar round:
These Arts brought Bacchus to the Feast,
By Tygers drawn, with Godhead crown'd;
These rais'd Quirinus to the blest Abodes;
When Juno smiling thus bespoke th' assembled Gods.

A foreign Dame and foolish Boy,
Who by false Judgment urg'd my Hate,
Conspir'd to ruin wretched Troy,
And hasten'd its untimely Fate;

E'er since the Founder of that perjur'd House
Deny'd the Gods their due, and broke his solemn Vows.

I to Minerva join'd my Pow'r,
To crush the vile detested Race;
Old Priam's Palace is no more,
And Helen's fair bewitching Face;
My Greeks are sated with the Phrygian Blood,
Though Hector's Sword so long their conqu'ring Arms withstood.

Here all our mutual Quarrels cease:
At length the Ten-years Toil is done;
Great Mars my Anger shall appease,
And I accept his warlike Son:
Here let him with Immortal Beings sit,
With Nectar crown the Bowl, and grace the Realms of Light.

Whilst he enjoys eternal Ease,
And Troy's demolish'd Tow'rs
Are parted by the middle Seas
From fair Italia's Shores,
His exil'd Sons new Empires shall adorn,
So long as Flocks and Herds insult old Priam's Urn.

There let the Cattel graze and breed,
Whilst Rome her lofty Tow'rs shall crown
With Trophies from the vanquish'd Mede,
And give new Laws to Realms unknown;
Extend her Terrors and her Glory far,
And through the subject World her warlike Eagles bear.

Where the Globe's better half divides,
There let them unmolested Reign,
Far as the Middle Ocean glides,
But still from Sacrilege abstain;
And leave to its first harmless Parent Earth
The bright bewitching Oar; nor give the Idol Birth.

Where Nature's utmost Limits end,
Let Fame display their high Renown,

And to each Clime their Arms extend,
The frozen Isles, and Torrid Zone:
Whilst Troy in deep eternal Ruins lies,
Let Rome's auspicious State on her Foundations rise.

'Tis on these Terms that Empire stands:
Should their ambitious forward Race,
With superstitious wicked Hands,
Rebuild that most detested Place;
Once more it should be sack'd, its Children bleed;
Whilst I, the Wife of Jove, my conqu'ring Grecians lead.

Should Phœbus with a brazen Wall
Three times her haughty Tow'rs surround,
Troy should three times unpity'd fall
By Grecian Arms, and kiss the Ground;
Three times her Matrons should lament the Slain,
And thrice her Captive Sons endure the Victor's Chain.

Stay, Muse! For whither would you fly?
'Tis not for your less lofty Wing
To reach Jove's firm Decrees, too high
For you, an humble Maid, to sing:
Do not the Speeches of the Gods debase,
Nor sink the mighty Theme with low unequal Lays.

University of Virginia Library

ODE III.