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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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Epist. III. To Julius Florus.
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Epist. III. To Julius Florus.

Florus, I long to know where Claudius leads
The distant Rage of War: whether he spreads
His conquering Banners o'er the Thracian Plains,
Or freezing Hebrus bound in snowy Chains.
Or does the Hellespont's high-tower'd Sea,
Or Asia's fertile Soil his Course delay?
What Works of Genius do the Youth prepare,
Who guard his sacred Person? Who shall dare
To sing the Glories of Augustu's Name,
And give his peaceful Honours down to Fame?
How fares my Titius? Say, when he intends
To publish? Does he not forget his Friends?

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He, who disdains the Springs of common Fame,
And dauntless quaffs the deep Pindaric Stream,
Does he design, while all the Muse inspires,
To tune to Theban Sounds the Roman Lyres;
Or, with the Transports of Theatric Rage,
And its sonorous Language, shake the Stage?
Let Celsus be admonish'd, o'er and o'er,
To search the Treasures of his native Store,
Nor touch what Phœbus consecrates to Fame,
Lest, when the Birds their various Colours claim,
Stripp'd of his stolen Pride, the Crow forlorn
Should stand the Laughter of the public Scorn.
What do You dare? who float with active Wing
Around the thymy Fragrance of the Spring.
Not yours the Genius of a lowly Strain,
Nor of uncultur'd, or unpolish'd Vein,
Whether You plead with Eloquence his Cause;
Or to your Client clear the doubtful Laws;
Then sure to gain, for amatorious Lays,
The Wreaths of Ivy, with unenvied Praise.
Could You the Passions, in their Rage, controul,
That damp the nobler Purpose of the Soul;
Could You these soothing Discontents allay,
Soon should You rise where Wisdom points the Way;
Wisdom heaven-born, at which we all should aim,
The little Vulgar, and the known to Fame,

283

If we would live, within our proper Sphere,,
Dear to ourselves, and to our Country dear.
Now tell me, whether Plancus holds a Part
(For sure he well deserves it) in your Heart?
Or was the Reconcilement made in vain,
Which like an ill-cur'd Wound breaks forth again,
While inexperienc'd Youth, and Blood enflam'd,
Drive you, like Coursers, to the Yoke untam'd?
Where-e'er Ye are, too excellent to prove
The broken Union of fraternal Love,
A votive Heifer gratefully I feed,
For your Return in Sacrifice to bleed.