 | The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) |  |
ODE V.
When
Jove in Thunder speaks his Pow'r,
Though he's unseen, we know he reigns
But Cæsar's visible, whom all adore,
Since Britain feels his Yoke, and Persia wear his Chains.
Though he's unseen, we know he reigns
But Cæsar's visible, whom all adore,
Since Britain feels his Yoke, and Persia wear his Chains.
Where is Rome's ancient Honour fled?
Could those who follow'd to the Field
Where Crassus fought, with base Barbarians wed,
And twice made Slaves, to a new Bondage yield?
Could those who follow'd to the Field
Where Crassus fought, with base Barbarians wed,
And twice made Slaves, to a new Bondage yield?
The Flow'r of Italy is gone;
In Median Camps they spent their Blood;
Forgot the Vestal Fires and sacred Gown,
Though Jove still smil'd, and Rome unconquer'd stood.
In Median Camps they spent their Blood;
Forgot the Vestal Fires and sacred Gown,
Though Jove still smil'd, and Rome unconquer'd stood.
'Twas not by Principles like these
That Regulus deserv'd his Fame;
But urg'd the Senate never to release
Their Pris'ners lost in War, nor stain the Roman Name.
That Regulus deserv'd his Fame;
But urg'd the Senate never to release
Their Pris'ners lost in War, nor stain the Roman Name.
To endless Chains he doom'd the Slave:
Have I not seen, the Patriot cry'd,
Our Roman Arms to Punick Altars cleave,
Not rough with manly Wounds, nor yet with Slaughter dy'd?
Have I not seen, the Patriot cry'd,
Our Roman Arms to Punick Altars cleave,
Not rough with manly Wounds, nor yet with Slaughter dy'd?
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Have I not seen our free-born Sons
Coupled in Bonds, in Triumph show'd,
Through Gates wide open, and unguarded Towns?
Whilst Harvest grac'd the Fields which we had sown with Blood.
Coupled in Bonds, in Triumph show'd,
Through Gates wide open, and unguarded Towns?
Whilst Harvest grac'd the Fields which we had sown with Blood.
Will he that's ransom'd with a Price,
Return more active to the Fight?
Alas! You pay too dear for Cowardice:
Nor can the Wool, once stain'd, regain its native White.
Return more active to the Fight?
Alas! You pay too dear for Cowardice:
Nor can the Wool, once stain'd, regain its native White.
Virtue once banish'd from the Mind
To her first Seat no more returns:
Will Slaves grow valiant, or the hunted Hind
That scapes the Toils, engage, and wield her warlike Horns?
To her first Seat no more returns:
Will Slaves grow valiant, or the hunted Hind
That scapes the Toils, engage, and wield her warlike Horns?
Will he, by his own Valour, save
His Countrey in a second War,
Who in the first at Carthage was a Slave,
His Back with Fetters gall'd, his Soul benumb'd with Fear?
His Countrey in a second War,
Who in the first at Carthage was a Slave,
His Back with Fetters gall'd, his Soul benumb'd with Fear?
'Tis a Mock-fight, where Soldiers owe
Their Lives, regardless of their Fame,
Not to their Swords, but a forgiving Foe:
O Carthage, justly great! O Rome, a hated Name!
Their Lives, regardless of their Fame,
Not to their Swords, but a forgiving Foe:
O Carthage, justly great! O Rome, a hated Name!
Thus he, then with a stern Regard,
Fixt on the Ground a Martial Look;
And like a Criminal, for Death prepar'd,
His Wife and clinging Sons from his Embraces shook.
Fixt on the Ground a Martial Look;
And like a Criminal, for Death prepar'd,
His Wife and clinging Sons from his Embraces shook.
The doubtful Senate heard his Cause,
At length confirming what he spoke;
Unheard of Council, worthy our Applause
Whilst through his crowding Friends the glorious Exile broke.
At length confirming what he spoke;
Unheard of Council, worthy our Applause
Whilst through his crowding Friends the glorious Exile broke.
Too well he knew his savage Foes
'Their Racks and Tortures had prepar'd;
Yet still prest on, and from their Arms got loose
Who with Officious Force the dreadful Passage guard.
'Their Racks and Tortures had prepar'd;
Yet still prest on, and from their Arms got loose
Who with Officious Force the dreadful Passage guard.
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So calm and unconcern'd he went,
As if retiring from the Bar,
With thronging Clients cloy'd, with Pleading spent,
To fair Tarentum's Fields, to taste the Countrey Air.
As if retiring from the Bar,
With thronging Clients cloy'd, with Pleading spent,
To fair Tarentum's Fields, to taste the Countrey Air.
| The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) | |