 | The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) |  |
ODE IV.
The Royal Bird to whom the King of Heav'n,
The Empire of the feather'd Race has giv'n,
For Services already done,
The Rape of Priam's Son,
With high paternal Virtues fill'd,
Tho' Young, and from the Nest unskill'd,
His first Attempt with trembling Pinions tries,
Then down the sweeping Wind with rapid Swiftness flies,
And midst the frighted Lambkins bears away,
With mighty Force, his trembling Prey;
Or dips his Beak in Serpent's Blood,
Eager of Battel and of Food.
The Empire of the feather'd Race has giv'n,
For Services already done,
The Rape of Priam's Son,
With high paternal Virtues fill'd,
Tho' Young, and from the Nest unskill'd,
His first Attempt with trembling Pinions tries,
Then down the sweeping Wind with rapid Swiftness flies,
And midst the frighted Lambkins bears away,
With mighty Force, his trembling Prey;
Or dips his Beak in Serpent's Blood,
Eager of Battel and of Food.
The Lion, Prince of Brutes, his Dam forsakes,
And through the shaggy Herd, wild Slaughter makes,
Chacing some Goat along the Plain,
That flies, but flies in vain;
Such Drusus did in Arms appear,
When near the Alps he urg'd the War:
In vain the Rhæti did their Axes wield,
Like Amazons they fought, like Women fled the Field:
But why those savage Troops this Weapon chuse,
Confirm'd by long establish'd Use,
Historians would in vain disclose:
For who of Men all Secrets knows?
And through the shaggy Herd, wild Slaughter makes,
Chacing some Goat along the Plain,
That flies, but flies in vain;
Such Drusus did in Arms appear,
When near the Alps he urg'd the War:
In vain the Rhæti did their Axes wield,
Like Amazons they fought, like Women fled the Field:
But why those savage Troops this Weapon chuse,
Confirm'd by long establish'd Use,
Historians would in vain disclose:
For who of Men all Secrets knows?
At length, when crush'd by the young Warriour's Hand,
They knew, what Heroes, under Cæsar train'd,
Could do; to whom the Sire bequeaths
His Soul; in whom he breaths:
The royal Bird of mighty Jove,
Never brings forth a tim'rous Dove:
To valiant Fathers, valiant Sons succeed;
Thus Bulls from Bulls descend, and martial Horses breed.
Yet the best Blood by Learning is refin'd,
And Virtue arms the solid Mind;
Whilst Vice will stain the noblest Race,
And the paternal Stamp efface.
They knew, what Heroes, under Cæsar train'd,
Could do; to whom the Sire bequeaths
His Soul; in whom he breaths:
The royal Bird of mighty Jove,
Never brings forth a tim'rous Dove:
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Thus Bulls from Bulls descend, and martial Horses breed.
Yet the best Blood by Learning is refin'd,
And Virtue arms the solid Mind;
Whilst Vice will stain the noblest Race,
And the paternal Stamp efface.
Metaurum's bloody Waves and Banks shall tell,
How Asdrubal by Roman Valour fell,
What Rome to Nero's Offspring owes:
A nobler Son arose,
Smiling with Triumph, on that Day,
Which chac'd our Clouds and Foes away;
Who, like a Flame, all Italy o'er-ran,
Swift as the Eastern Wind that skims along the Main.
'Twas then the Pow'rs above began to bless
Our Troops with Conquest and Success;
The Gods, by impious Hands defac'd,
Once more erect, their Altars grac'd.
How Asdrubal by Roman Valour fell,
What Rome to Nero's Offspring owes:
A nobler Son arose,
Smiling with Triumph, on that Day,
Which chac'd our Clouds and Foes away;
Who, like a Flame, all Italy o'er-ran,
Swift as the Eastern Wind that skims along the Main.
'Twas then the Pow'rs above began to bless
Our Troops with Conquest and Success;
The Gods, by impious Hands defac'd,
Once more erect, their Altars grac'd.
At last perfidious Hannibal thus spoke:
We, like the Stag, the brinded Wolf provoke;
And when Retreat is Victory,
Rush on, tho' sure to die.
When Troy was sack'd, this People came
Thro' Tuscan Seas, and Grecian Flame;
Their Gods, their Parents, and their Children bore
From Ilium's ruin'd Walls to the Ausonian Shore:
Now, like an Oak on some cold Mountain's Brow,
At every Wound they sprout and grow;
The Ax and Sword new Vigour give,
And by their Ruins they revive.
We, like the Stag, the brinded Wolf provoke;
And when Retreat is Victory,
Rush on, tho' sure to die.
When Troy was sack'd, this People came
Thro' Tuscan Seas, and Grecian Flame;
Their Gods, their Parents, and their Children bore
From Ilium's ruin'd Walls to the Ausonian Shore:
Now, like an Oak on some cold Mountain's Brow,
At every Wound they sprout and grow;
The Ax and Sword new Vigour give,
And by their Ruins they revive.
Thus Hercules for matchless Valour fam'd,
With fruitless Blows the fertile Hydra tam'd;
For as one Head the Hero slew,
The Monster spawn'd a-new;
And thus the Dragon's Teeth, when sown,
Were to a Martial Harvest grown.
If to the Seas you trust this happy Race,
They gather Strength, and Pow'r, and Riches from the Seas.
If to the Field their warlike Troops they lead,
They fill their Foes with Awe and Dread:
Their Matrons sing their warlike Feats,
And every Tongue their Fame repeats.
With fruitless Blows the fertile Hydra tam'd;
For as one Head the Hero slew,
The Monster spawn'd a-new;
And thus the Dragon's Teeth, when sown,
Were to a Martial Harvest grown.
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They gather Strength, and Pow'r, and Riches from the Seas.
If to the Field their warlike Troops they lead,
They fill their Foes with Awe and Dread:
Their Matrons sing their warlike Feats,
And every Tongue their Fame repeats.
No more the Herald shall to Carthage bear
The happy Tidings of Success in War:
Farewel to Fortune and Renown,
For all our Hopes are gone;
With Asdrubal my Honour dy'd,
And Carthage perish'd by his Side.
The Roman Youth may march triumphant on,
For with auspicious Smiles the Gods their Drusus crown;
Great Jove still condescends to bless his Arms,
And saves him from impending Harms:
With Conduct far above his Years
The Toils of War and Camps he bears.
The happy Tidings of Success in War:
Farewel to Fortune and Renown,
For all our Hopes are gone;
With Asdrubal my Honour dy'd,
And Carthage perish'd by his Side.
The Roman Youth may march triumphant on,
For with auspicious Smiles the Gods their Drusus crown;
Great Jove still condescends to bless his Arms,
And saves him from impending Harms:
With Conduct far above his Years
The Toils of War and Camps he bears.
| The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) | |