The Works of Horace In English Verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Whoe'er, with sacrilegious Hand,
First planted Thee on my ill-fated Land,
(Of the whole Village the Disgrace,
Portending Ruin to his guiltless Race)
Must sure have dealt in all the Stores
Of poisonous Drugs, that Colchian Art explores;

179

And slain his sleeping Guest, or dy'd
His impious Hands in horrid Parricide.
Ingrate! to threaten thus the Head
Of Him, whose Soil has Thee so kindly fed!
None knows, of what he should beware;
Impending Fate eludes our wretched Care!
The Sailor dreads the raging Wave;
But dreams not on the Land to find a Grave.
The Roman fears the Parthian's Flight;
The Parthian, Roman Chains and Roman Might.
But to the Force of sudden Death
Whole Nations yield, and still shall yield, their Breath!
It little fail'd, but I had seen
The dreary Realms of Pluto's dusky Queen,
And Æacus's dread Abode,
And the distinguish'd Mansions of the Good,
Where Sappho, in Æolian Strains,
Of her fair Rival's treacherous Arts complains:
Alcæus too, with martial Fire,
To nobler Subjects tunes his golden Lyre;
And sings the Perils, which he bore
By Sea and Land, to gain a foreign Shore;
His Toils in War.—The Manes throng,
And greedily devour the rapturous Song!

180

The Vulgar most, to hear him tell,
What Battles he had won; what Tyrants fell!
Nor strange: His hundred sable Ears
The Dog of Hell hangs down, and gaping hears!
The Snakes, twin'd round the Furies Hair,
Sooth'd by their Verse, a Face less horrid wear.
Prometheus, Tantalus, their Pains,
List'ning, forget, and feel th'enchanting Strains!
And fierce Orion quits the Chace
Of Lions, and the Lynx's spotted Race.

1718.