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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 XI. To Mercury.
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Ode XI. To Mercury.

O Mercury, by whose harmonious Aid,
Amphion's Voice the listening Stones could lead;
And Thou, sweet Shell, of Art to raise,
On seven melodious Strings, thy various Lays;
Not vocal when you first were found,
But of a simple, and ungrateful Sound;
Now tun'd so sweetly to the Ear,
That Gods and Men with sacred Rapture hear;
Oh! Thou inspire the melting Strain
To charm my Lyde's obstinate Disdain,
Who, like a Filly o'er the Field
With playful Spirit bounds, and fears to yield
To Hand of gentlest Touch, or prove,
Wild as she is, the Joys of wedded Love.
Thou canst, with all their Beasts of Prey,
The listening Forest lead, and powerful stay
The rapid Stream. The Dog of Hell,
Immense of Bulk, to thee soft-soothing fell

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Thy Suppliant, though round his Head
His hundred Snakes their guardian Horrours spread;
Baleful his Breath though fiery glow'd,
And from his three-tongued Jaws the Poison flow'd.
Ixion, of his Pains beguil'd,
And Tityos, with unwilling Pleasure, smil'd;
Dry stood their Urn, while with soft Strain
You sooth'd the Labours of the Virgin Train.
Let Lyde hear, what Pains, decreed,
Though late, in Death attend the direful Deed.
There doom'd to fill, unceasing Task!
With idle Toil, an ever-streaming Cask;
Impious, who in the Hour of Rest,
Could plunge their Daggers in a Husband's Breast.
Yet worthy of the nuptial Flame,
To latest Times preserv'd a deathless Name,
Of many, one untainted Maid,
Gloriously false, her perjur'd Sire betray'd.
Thus to her youthful Lord she cries,
Awake, lest Sleep eternal close thine Eyes;
Eternal Sleep; and ah! from whom
You little dread the fell, relentless Doom.

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Oh! fly, my Lord, this wrathful Sire;
Far from my Sisters fly, those Sisters dire,
Who riot in their Husband's Blood,
As Lionesses rend their panting Food;
While I, to such fell Deeds a Foe,
Nor bind thee here, nor strike the fatal Blow.
Me let my Father load with Chains,
Or banish to Numidia's farthest Plains;
My Crime, that I a loyal Wife,
In kind Compassion spar'd my Husband's Life.
While Venus, and the Shades of Night
Protect thee, speed, by Sea or Land, thy Flight;
May every happy Omen wait
To guide thee through this gloomy Hour of Fate,
Yet not forgetful of my Doom,
Engrave thy grateful Sorrows on my Tomb.