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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| 2. | THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE. |
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
129
THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
Ode I. To Asinius Pollio.
Of warm Commotions, wrathful Jars,
The growing Seeds of civil Wars;
Of double Fortune's cruel Games,
The specious Means, the private Aims,
And fatal Friendships of the guilty Great,
Alas! how fatal to the Roman State!
The growing Seeds of civil Wars;
Of double Fortune's cruel Games,
The specious Means, the private Aims,
And fatal Friendships of the guilty Great,
Alas! how fatal to the Roman State!
131
Of mighty Legions late-subdu'd,
And Arms with Latian Blood imbru'd,
Yet unaton'd (a Labour vast!
Doubtful the Dye, and dire the Cast!)
You treat adventurous, and incautious tread
On Fires, with faithless Embers overspread:
And Arms with Latian Blood imbru'd,
Yet unaton'd (a Labour vast!
Doubtful the Dye, and dire the Cast!)
You treat adventurous, and incautious tread
On Fires, with faithless Embers overspread:
Retard a while thy glowing Vein,
Nor swell the solemn, tragic Scene;
And when thy sage, historic Cares
Have form'd the Train of Rome's Affairs,
With lofty Rapture re-inflam'd, infuse
Heroic Thoughts, and wake the buskin'd Muse:
Nor swell the solemn, tragic Scene;
And when thy sage, historic Cares
Have form'd the Train of Rome's Affairs,
With lofty Rapture re-inflam'd, infuse
Heroic Thoughts, and wake the buskin'd Muse:
O Pollio, Thou the great Defence
Of sad, impleaded Innocence,
On whom, to weigh the grand Debate,
In deep Consult the Fathers wait;
For whom the Triumphs o'er Dalmatia spread
Unfading Honours round thy laurel'd Head.
Of sad, impleaded Innocence,
On whom, to weigh the grand Debate,
In deep Consult the Fathers wait;
For whom the Triumphs o'er Dalmatia spread
Unfading Honours round thy laurel'd Head.
133
Lo! now the Clarion's Voice I hear,
Its threatning Murmurs pierce mine Ear
And in thy Lines with brazen Breath
The Trumpet sounds the Charge of Death;
Now, now the Flash of brandish'd Arms affright
The flying Steed, and marrs the Rider's Sight!
Its threatning Murmurs pierce mine Ear
And in thy Lines with brazen Breath
The Trumpet sounds the Charge of Death;
Now, now the Flash of brandish'd Arms affright
The flying Steed, and marrs the Rider's Sight!
Panting with Terrour I survey
The martial Host in dread Array,
The Chiefs, how valiant and how just!
Defil'd with not inglorious Dust,
And all the World in Chains but Cato see
Of Soul unshock'd and savage to be free.
The martial Host in dread Array,
The Chiefs, how valiant and how just!
Defil'd with not inglorious Dust,
And all the World in Chains but Cato see
Of Soul unshock'd and savage to be free.
Imperial Juno, fraught with Ire,
And all the partial Gods of Tyre,
Who, feeble to revenge her Cries,
Retreated to their native Skies,
Have in the Victor's bleeding Race repaid
Jugurtha's Ruin and appeas'd his Shade.
And all the partial Gods of Tyre,
Who, feeble to revenge her Cries,
Retreated to their native Skies,
Have in the Victor's bleeding Race repaid
Jugurtha's Ruin and appeas'd his Shade.
What Plain, by Mortals travers'd o'er,
Is not enrich'd with Roman Gore?
Unnumber'd Sepulchres record
The deathful Harvest of the Sword,
And proud Hesperia rushing into Thrall,
While distant Parthia heard the cumberous Fall.
Is not enrich'd with Roman Gore?
Unnumber'd Sepulchres record
The deathful Harvest of the Sword,
And proud Hesperia rushing into Thrall,
While distant Parthia heard the cumberous Fall.
135
What Gulph, what rapid River flows
Unconscious of our wasteful Woes?
What rolling Sea's unfathom'd Tide
Have not the Daunian Slaughters dy'd?
What Coast, encircled by the briny Flood,
Boasts not the shameful Tribute of our Blood?
Unconscious of our wasteful Woes?
What rolling Sea's unfathom'd Tide
Have not the Daunian Slaughters dy'd?
What Coast, encircled by the briny Flood,
Boasts not the shameful Tribute of our Blood?
But Thou, my Muse, to whom belong
The sportive Jest and jocund Song:
Beyond thy Province cease to stray,
Nor vain revive the plaintive Lay:
Seek humbler Measures, indolently laid
With Me beneath some Love-sequester'd Shade.
The sportive Jest and jocund Song:
Beyond thy Province cease to stray,
Nor vain revive the plaintive Lay:
Seek humbler Measures, indolently laid
With Me beneath some Love-sequester'd Shade.
Ode II. To Crispus Sallustius.
Gold hath no Lustre of its own,
It shines by temperate Use alone,
And when in Earth it hoarded lies
My Sallust can the Mass despise.
It shines by temperate Use alone,
And when in Earth it hoarded lies
My Sallust can the Mass despise.
137
With never-failing Wing shall Fame
To latest Ages bear the Name
Of Proculeius, who could prove
A Father, in a Brother's Love.
By Virtue's Precepts to controul
The thirsty Cravings of the Soul
Is over wider Realms to reign,
Unenvied Monarch, than if Spain
You could to distant Lybia join,
And both the Carthages were thine.
To latest Ages bear the Name
Of Proculeius, who could prove
A Father, in a Brother's Love.
By Virtue's Precepts to controul
The thirsty Cravings of the Soul
Is over wider Realms to reign,
Unenvied Monarch, than if Spain
You could to distant Lybia join,
And both the Carthages were thine.
The Dropsy, by Indulgence nurs'd,
Pursues us with increasing Thirst,
Till Art expels the Cause, and drains
The watry Languor from our Veins.
True Virtue can the Croud unteach
Their false, mistaken Forms of Speech;
Virtue, to Crouds a Foe profest,
Disdains to number with the Blest,
Phraates by his Slaves ador'd
And to the Parthian Crown restor'd,
But gives the Diadem, the Throne,
And laurel Wreath to Him alone,
Who can a treasur'd Mass of Gold
With firm, undazzled Eye behold.
Pursues us with increasing Thirst,
Till Art expels the Cause, and drains
The watry Languor from our Veins.
True Virtue can the Croud unteach
Their false, mistaken Forms of Speech;
Virtue, to Crouds a Foe profest,
Disdains to number with the Blest,
Phraates by his Slaves ador'd
And to the Parthian Crown restor'd,
139
And laurel Wreath to Him alone,
Who can a treasur'd Mass of Gold
With firm, undazzled Eye behold.
Ode III. To Dellius.
In arduous Hours an equal Mind maintain,
Nor let your Spirit rise too high,
Though Fortune kindly change the Scene,
Alas! my Dellius, Thou wert born to die,
Nor let your Spirit rise too high,
Though Fortune kindly change the Scene,
Alas! my Dellius, Thou wert born to die,
Whether your Life in Sadness pass,
Or wing'd with Pleasure glide away;
Whether, reclining on the Grass,
You bless with choicer Wine the festal Day,
Or wing'd with Pleasure glide away;
Whether, reclining on the Grass,
You bless with choicer Wine the festal Day,
141
Where the pale Poplar and the Pine
Expel th'inhospitable Beam;
In kindly Shades their Branches twine,
And toils, obliquely swift, the purling Stream.
Expel th'inhospitable Beam;
In kindly Shades their Branches twine,
And toils, obliquely swift, the purling Stream.
There pour your Wines, your Odours shed,
Bring forth the rosy, short-liv'd Flower,
While Fate yet spins thy mortal Thread,
While Youth and Fortune give th'indulgent Hour.
Bring forth the rosy, short-liv'd Flower,
While Fate yet spins thy mortal Thread,
While Youth and Fortune give th'indulgent Hour.
Your purchas'd Woods, your House of State,
Your Villa wash'd by Tiber's Wave,
You must, my Dellius, yield to Fate,
And to your Heir these high-pil'd Treasures leave.
Your Villa wash'd by Tiber's Wave,
You must, my Dellius, yield to Fate,
And to your Heir these high-pil'd Treasures leave.
Though you could boast a Monarch's Birth;
Though Wealth unbounded round Thee flows;
Though poor, and sprung from vulgar Earth,
No Pity for his Victim Pluto knows,
Though Wealth unbounded round Thee flows;
Though poor, and sprung from vulgar Earth,
No Pity for his Victim Pluto knows,
For all must tread the Paths of Fate,
And ever shakes the mortal Urn,
Whose Lot embarks us, soon or late,
On Charon's Boat, ah! never to return.
And ever shakes the mortal Urn,
Whose Lot embarks us, soon or late,
On Charon's Boat, ah! never to return.
143
Ode IV. To Xanthias Phoceus.
Blush not, my Phoceus, though a Dame
Of servile State thy Breast enflame;
A Slave could stern Achilles move,
And bend his haughty Soul to Love:
Ajax, invincible in Arms,
Was captiv'd by his Captive's Charms:
Atrides, midst his Triumphs mourn'd,
And for a ravish'd Virgin burn'd,
What Time, the fierce Barbarian Bands
Fell by Peleides' conquering Hands,
And Troy (her Hector swept away)
Became to Greece an easier Prey.
Of servile State thy Breast enflame;
A Slave could stern Achilles move,
And bend his haughty Soul to Love:
Ajax, invincible in Arms,
Was captiv'd by his Captive's Charms:
Atrides, midst his Triumphs mourn'd,
And for a ravish'd Virgin burn'd,
What Time, the fierce Barbarian Bands
Fell by Peleides' conquering Hands,
And Troy (her Hector swept away)
Became to Greece an easier Prey.
Who knows, when Phyllis is your Bride,
To what fine Folk you'll be allied?
Her Parents dear, of gentle Race,
Shall not their Son-in-law disgrace.
She sprung from Kings, or nothing less,
And weeps the Family's Distress.
To what fine Folk you'll be allied?
Her Parents dear, of gentle Race,
Shall not their Son-in-law disgrace.
She sprung from Kings, or nothing less,
And weeps the Family's Distress.
145
Think not that such a charming She
Can of the sordid Vulgar be;
To shameless, prostituted Earth,
Think not that Phyllis owes her Birth,
Who with such Firmness could disdain
The Force and Flattery of Gain.
Can of the sordid Vulgar be;
To shameless, prostituted Earth,
Think not that Phyllis owes her Birth,
Who with such Firmness could disdain
The Force and Flattery of Gain.
Yet, after all, believe me, Friend,
I can with Innocence commend
Her blooming Face, her snowy Arms,
Her taper Leg, and all her Charms,
For, trembling on to forty Years
My Age forbids all jealous Fears.
I can with Innocence commend
Her blooming Face, her snowy Arms,
Her taper Leg, and all her Charms,
For, trembling on to forty Years
My Age forbids all jealous Fears.
Ode V.
[See, thy Heifer's yet unbroke]
See, thy Heifer's yet unbroke
To the Labours of the Yoke,
Nor hath Strength enough to prove
Such impetuous Weight of Love.
Round the Fields her Fancy strays,
O'er the Mead she sportive plays,
Or beneath the sultry Beam
Cools her in the passing Stream,
Or with frisking Steerlings young
Sports the sallow Groves among.
To the Labours of the Yoke,
Nor hath Strength enough to prove
Such impetuous Weight of Love.
Round the Fields her Fancy strays,
O'er the Mead she sportive plays,
Or beneath the sultry Beam
Cools her in the passing Stream,
Or with frisking Steerlings young
Sports the sallow Groves among.
147
Do not then commit a Rape
On the crude, unmellow'd Grape:
Autumn soon, of various Dyes,
Shall with kinder Warmth arise,
Bid the livid Clusters glow,
And a riper Purple show.
Time to Her shall count each Day,
Which from You it takes away;
Lalage, with forward Charms,
Soon shall rush into your Arms;
Pholoë, the flying Fair,
Shall not then with Her compare;
Nor the Maid of Bosom bright,
Like the Moon's unspotted Light,
O'er the Waves, with silver Rays,
When the floating Lustre plays:
Nor the Cnidian fair and young,
Who, the Virgin Choir among,
Might deceive, in Female Guise,
Strangers, though extremely wise,
With the Difference between
Sexes hardly to be seen,
With his Hair of flowing Grace,
And his boyish, girlish Face.
On the crude, unmellow'd Grape:
Autumn soon, of various Dyes,
Shall with kinder Warmth arise,
Bid the livid Clusters glow,
And a riper Purple show.
Time to Her shall count each Day,
Which from You it takes away;
Lalage, with forward Charms,
Soon shall rush into your Arms;
Pholoë, the flying Fair,
Shall not then with Her compare;
Nor the Maid of Bosom bright,
Like the Moon's unspotted Light,
O'er the Waves, with silver Rays,
When the floating Lustre plays:
Nor the Cnidian fair and young,
Who, the Virgin Choir among,
Might deceive, in Female Guise,
Strangers, though extremely wise,
With the Difference between
Sexes hardly to be seen,
With his Hair of flowing Grace,
And his boyish, girlish Face.
149
Ode VI. To Septimius.
Septimius, who hast vow'd to go
With Horace even to farthest Spain,
Or see the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
Untaught to bear the Roman Chain,
Or the barbaric Syrts, with mad Recoil
Where Mauritanian Billows ceaseless boil;
With Horace even to farthest Spain,
Or see the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
Untaught to bear the Roman Chain,
Or the barbaric Syrts, with mad Recoil
Where Mauritanian Billows ceaseless boil;
May Tibur to my latest Hours
Afford a kind and calm Retreat;
Tibur, beneath whose lofty Towers
The Grecians fix'd their blissful Seat;
There may my Labours end, my Wandering cease,
There all my Toils of Warfare rest in Peace.
Afford a kind and calm Retreat;
Tibur, beneath whose lofty Towers
The Grecians fix'd their blissful Seat;
There may my Labours end, my Wandering cease,
There all my Toils of Warfare rest in Peace.
But should the partial Fates refuse
That purer Air to let me breathe,
Galesus, gentle Stream, I'll chuse,
Where Flocks of richest Fleeces bathe:
Phalantus there his rural Sceptre sway'd,
Uncertain Offspring of a Spartan Maid.
That purer Air to let me breathe,
Galesus, gentle Stream, I'll chuse,
Where Flocks of richest Fleeces bathe:
Phalantus there his rural Sceptre sway'd,
Uncertain Offspring of a Spartan Maid.
151
No Spot so joyous smiles to Me
Of this wide Globe's extended Shores;
Where nor the Labours of the Bee
Yield to Hymettus' golden Stores,
Nor the green Berry of Venafran Soil
Swells with a riper Flood of fragrant Oil.
Of this wide Globe's extended Shores;
Where nor the Labours of the Bee
Yield to Hymettus' golden Stores,
Nor the green Berry of Venafran Soil
Swells with a riper Flood of fragrant Oil.
There Jove his kindest Gifts bestows,
There joys to crown the fertile Plains,
With genial Warmth the Winter glows,
And Spring with lengthen'd Honours reigns,
Nor Aulon, friendly to the cluster'd Vine,
Envies the Vintage of Falernian Wine.
There joys to crown the fertile Plains,
With genial Warmth the Winter glows,
And Spring with lengthen'd Honours reigns,
Nor Aulon, friendly to the cluster'd Vine,
Envies the Vintage of Falernian Wine.
That happy Place, that sweet Retreat,
The charming Hills that round it rise,
Your latest Hours and mine await,
And when at length your Horace dies,
There the deep Sigh thy Poet-Friend shall mourn,
And pious Tears bedew his glowing Urn.
The charming Hills that round it rise,
Your latest Hours and mine await,
And when at length your Horace dies,
There the deep Sigh thy Poet-Friend shall mourn,
And pious Tears bedew his glowing Urn.
153
Ode VII. To Pompeius Varus.
Varus, in earthly Youth belov'd,
In War's extremest Dangers prov'd,
Our daring Host when Brutus led,
And in the Cause of Freedom bled,
To Rome and all her Guardian Powers
What happy Chance my Friend restores,
With whom I've cheer'd the tedious Day,
And drank its loitering Hours away;
Profuse of Sweets while Syria shed
Her liquid Odours on my Head?
In War's extremest Dangers prov'd,
Our daring Host when Brutus led,
And in the Cause of Freedom bled,
To Rome and all her Guardian Powers
What happy Chance my Friend restores,
With whom I've cheer'd the tedious Day,
And drank its loitering Hours away;
Profuse of Sweets while Syria shed
Her liquid Odours on my Head?
With Thee I saw Philippi's Plain,
Its fatal Rout; a fearful Scene!
And dropp'd, alas! th'inglorious Shield,
Where Valour's self was forc'd to yield,
Where soil'd in Dust the vanquish'd lay,
And breath'd th'indignant Soul away.
But me, when dying with my Fear,
Through warring Hosts, enwrap'd in Air
Swift did the God of Wit convey;
While Thee, wild War's tempestuous Sea
Resorbing, hurried far from Shore,
And to new Scenes of Slaughter bore.
Its fatal Rout; a fearful Scene!
And dropp'd, alas! th'inglorious Shield,
Where Valour's self was forc'd to yield,
Where soil'd in Dust the vanquish'd lay,
And breath'd th'indignant Soul away.
155
Through warring Hosts, enwrap'd in Air
Swift did the God of Wit convey;
While Thee, wild War's tempestuous Sea
Resorbing, hurried far from Shore,
And to new Scenes of Slaughter bore.
To Jove thy votive Offering pay
And here beneath my Laurels lay
Thy Limbs, from Toils of Warfare free,
Nor spare the Casks reserv'd for Thee,
But joyous fill the polish'd Bowl;
With Wine oblivious chear thy Soul,
And from the breathing Phials pour
Of essenc'd Sweets a larger Show'r.
And here beneath my Laurels lay
Thy Limbs, from Toils of Warfare free,
Nor spare the Casks reserv'd for Thee,
But joyous fill the polish'd Bowl;
With Wine oblivious chear thy Soul,
And from the breathing Phials pour
Of essenc'd Sweets a larger Show'r.
But who the Wreath unfading weaves
Of Parsly or of Myrtle-Leaves?
To whom shall Beauty's Queen assign
To reign the Monarch of our Wine?
For Thracian-like I'll drink to day,
And deeply Bacchus it away.
Our Transports for a Friend restor'd,
Should even to Madness shake the Board.
Of Parsly or of Myrtle-Leaves?
157
To reign the Monarch of our Wine?
For Thracian-like I'll drink to day,
And deeply Bacchus it away.
Our Transports for a Friend restor'd,
Should even to Madness shake the Board.
Ode VIII. To Barine.
If e'er th'insulted Powers had shed
The slightest Vengeance on thy Head,
If but a Nail or Tooth of Thee
Were blacken'd by thy Perjury,
Again thy Falshood might deceive,
And I the faithless Vow believe.
But when, Perfidious, you engage
To meet high Heaven's vindictive Rage,
You rise, with heighten'd Lustre fair,
Of all our Youth the public Care.
It thrives with Thee to be forsworn
By thy dead Mother's hallow'd Urn:
By Heaven, and all the Stars, that roll
In silent Circuit round the Pole;
By Heaven and every nightly Sign,
By every deathless Power divine;
For Venus laughs at all thy Wiles,
The gentle Nymphs behold with Smiles,
And, with the Blood of some poor Swain,
By thy perfidious Beauty slain,
Fierce Cupid whets his burning Darts,
For Thee to wound new Lovers Hearts.
The slightest Vengeance on thy Head,
If but a Nail or Tooth of Thee
Were blacken'd by thy Perjury,
Again thy Falshood might deceive,
And I the faithless Vow believe.
But when, Perfidious, you engage
To meet high Heaven's vindictive Rage,
You rise, with heighten'd Lustre fair,
Of all our Youth the public Care.
It thrives with Thee to be forsworn
By thy dead Mother's hallow'd Urn:
By Heaven, and all the Stars, that roll
In silent Circuit round the Pole;
By Heaven and every nightly Sign,
By every deathless Power divine;
159
The gentle Nymphs behold with Smiles,
And, with the Blood of some poor Swain,
By thy perfidious Beauty slain,
Fierce Cupid whets his burning Darts,
For Thee to wound new Lovers Hearts.
Thy Train of Slaves grows every Day,
Infants are rising to thy Sway,
And They, who swore to break thy Chain,
Yet haunt those impious Doors again.
Thee Mothers for their Striplings fear,
The Father trembles for his Heir,
And weeping stands the Virgin-Bride,
In Hymen's Fetters newly tied,
Lest You detain, with brighter Charms,
Her perjur'd Husband from her Arms.
Infants are rising to thy Sway,
And They, who swore to break thy Chain,
Yet haunt those impious Doors again.
Thee Mothers for their Striplings fear,
The Father trembles for his Heir,
And weeping stands the Virgin-Bride,
In Hymen's Fetters newly tied,
Lest You detain, with brighter Charms,
Her perjur'd Husband from her Arms.
Ode IX. To Valgius.
Nor everlasting Rain deforms
The squalid Fields, nor endless Storms,
Inconstant, vex the Caspian Main,
Nor on Armenia's frozen Plain
The loitering Snow unmelting lies,
Nor loud when Northern Winds arise,
The labouring Forests bend the Head,
Nor yet their leafy Honours shed:
But you in ceaseless Tears complain,
And still indulge this weeping Strain.
When Vesper lifts his Evening Ray,
Or flies the rapid Beam of Day,
The Death of Mystes fills your Eyes,
And bids the tender Passion rise.
The squalid Fields, nor endless Storms,
Inconstant, vex the Caspian Main,
Nor on Armenia's frozen Plain
161
Nor loud when Northern Winds arise,
The labouring Forests bend the Head,
Nor yet their leafy Honours shed:
But you in ceaseless Tears complain,
And still indulge this weeping Strain.
When Vesper lifts his Evening Ray,
Or flies the rapid Beam of Day,
The Death of Mystes fills your Eyes,
And bids the tender Passion rise.
Not for his Son the Grecian Sage,
Renown'd for thrice the mortal Age;
Not for their youthful Brother dead
Such Sorrows Priam's Daughters shed.
At length these weak Complaints give o'er,
Indulge th'unmanly Grief no more,
But let us bolder sweep the String,
And Cæsar's new-rais'd Trophies sing;
Or sing Niphates' freezing Flood,
And Medus, with his Realms, subdued;
Whose Waves are taught with humbler Pride
Smoother to roll their lessening Tide,
And Scythians, who reluctant yield,
Nor pour their Squadrons o'er the Field.
Renown'd for thrice the mortal Age;
Not for their youthful Brother dead
Such Sorrows Priam's Daughters shed.
At length these weak Complaints give o'er,
Indulge th'unmanly Grief no more,
But let us bolder sweep the String,
And Cæsar's new-rais'd Trophies sing;
163
And Medus, with his Realms, subdued;
Whose Waves are taught with humbler Pride
Smoother to roll their lessening Tide,
And Scythians, who reluctant yield,
Nor pour their Squadrons o'er the Field.
Ode X. To Licinius Murena.
Licinius, would You live with Ease,
Tempt not too far the boundless Seas;
And when You hear the Tempest roar,
Press not too near th'unequal Shore.
Tempt not too far the boundless Seas;
And when You hear the Tempest roar,
Press not too near th'unequal Shore.
The Man, within the golden Mean,
Who can his boldest Wish contain,
Securely views the ruin'd Cell
Where sordid Want and Sorrow dwell,
And in himself serenely great
Declines an envied Room of State.
Who can his boldest Wish contain,
Securely views the ruin'd Cell
Where sordid Want and Sorrow dwell,
And in himself serenely great
Declines an envied Room of State.
When high in Air the Pine ascends
To every ruder Blast it bends:
The Palace from its airy Height
Falls tumbling down with heavier Weight,
And when from Heaven the Lightning flies,
It blasts the Hills, which proudest rise.
To every ruder Blast it bends:
The Palace from its airy Height
Falls tumbling down with heavier Weight,
And when from Heaven the Lightning flies,
It blasts the Hills, which proudest rise.
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With Virtue's tranquil Wisdom blest,
Who e'er enjoys th'untroubled Breast,
With Hope the gloomy Hour can chear,
And temper Happiness with Fear.
If Jove the Winter's Horrours bring,
Great Jove restores the genial Spring;
Then let us not of Fate complain,
For soon shall change the gloomy Scene.
Apollo sometimes can inspire
The silent Muse, and wake the Lyre;
The deathful Bow not always plies,
Th'unerring Dart not always flies,
When Fortune, various Goddess, lowers,
Collect your Strength, exert your Powers,
But, when she breathes a kinder Gale,
Wisely contract your swelling Sail.
Who e'er enjoys th'untroubled Breast,
With Hope the gloomy Hour can chear,
And temper Happiness with Fear.
If Jove the Winter's Horrours bring,
Great Jove restores the genial Spring;
Then let us not of Fate complain,
For soon shall change the gloomy Scene.
Apollo sometimes can inspire
The silent Muse, and wake the Lyre;
The deathful Bow not always plies,
Th'unerring Dart not always flies,
When Fortune, various Goddess, lowers,
Collect your Strength, exert your Powers,
But, when she breathes a kinder Gale,
Wisely contract your swelling Sail.
Ode XI. To Quintius Hirpinus.
Be not anxious, Friend, to know
What the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
What intends the Scythian's Pride,
Far from Us whom Seas divide.
Tremble not with vain Desires,
Few the Things which Life requires.
Youth with rapid Swiftness flies,
Beauty's Lustre quickly dies,
Wither'd Age drives far away
Gentle Sleep and amorous Play.
When in vernal Bloom they glow
Flowers their gayest Honours show;
Nor the Moon with equal Grace
Always lifts her ruddy Face.
Thus while Nature's Works decay,
Busy mortal, prithee say,
Why do you fatigue the Mind,
Not for endless Schemes design'd?
What the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
What intends the Scythian's Pride,
Far from Us whom Seas divide.
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Few the Things which Life requires.
Youth with rapid Swiftness flies,
Beauty's Lustre quickly dies,
Wither'd Age drives far away
Gentle Sleep and amorous Play.
When in vernal Bloom they glow
Flowers their gayest Honours show;
Nor the Moon with equal Grace
Always lifts her ruddy Face.
Thus while Nature's Works decay,
Busy mortal, prithee say,
Why do you fatigue the Mind,
Not for endless Schemes design'd?
Thus beneath this lofty Shade,
Thus in careless Freedom laid,
While Assyrian Essence sheds
Liquid Fragrance on our Heads,
While we lie with Roses crown'd,
Let the chearful Bowl go round:
Bacchus can our Cares controul,
Cares that prey upon the Soul.
Thus in careless Freedom laid,
While Assyrian Essence sheds
Liquid Fragrance on our Heads,
While we lie with Roses crown'd,
Let the chearful Bowl go round:
Bacchus can our Cares controul,
Cares that prey upon the Soul.
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Who shall from the passing Stream
Quench our Wine's Falernian Flame;
Who the vagrant Wanton bring,
Mistress of the Lyric String,
With her flowing Tresses tied,
Careless like a Spartan Bride.
Quench our Wine's Falernian Flame;
Who the vagrant Wanton bring,
Mistress of the Lyric String,
With her flowing Tresses tied,
Careless like a Spartan Bride.
Ode XII. To Mæcenas.
Numantia's Wars, for Years maintain'd,
Or Hannibal's vindictive Ire,
Or Seas with Punic Gore distain'd,
Suit not the Softness of my feeble Lyre;
Or Hannibal's vindictive Ire,
Or Seas with Punic Gore distain'd,
Suit not the Softness of my feeble Lyre;
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Nor the fierce Broils and savage Mirth
Of Centaurs deep with Wine imbru'd;
Nor the gigantic Sons of Earth
By Force Herculean gloriously subdu'd:
Of Centaurs deep with Wine imbru'd;
Nor the gigantic Sons of Earth
By Force Herculean gloriously subdu'd:
That Earth-born Race, with dire Alarms
Who shook the starry Spheres above,
And impious dar'd with horrid Arms
Boldly defy th'Omnipotence of Jove.
Who shook the starry Spheres above,
And impious dar'd with horrid Arms
Boldly defy th'Omnipotence of Jove.
You in historic Prose shall tell
The mighty Power of Cæsar's War;
How Kings beneath his Battle fell,
And drag'd indignant his triumphal Car.
The mighty Power of Cæsar's War;
How Kings beneath his Battle fell,
And drag'd indignant his triumphal Car.
Licymnia's Voice, Licymnia's Eye,
Bright-darting its resplendent Ray,
Her Breast where Love and Friendship lie,
The Muse commands me sing in softer Lay;
Bright-darting its resplendent Ray,
Her Breast where Love and Friendship lie,
The Muse commands me sing in softer Lay;
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In Raillery the sportive Jest,
Graceful her Step in dancing charms,
When playful at Diana's Feast
To the bright Virgin Choir she winds her Arms.
Graceful her Step in dancing charms,
When playful at Diana's Feast
To the bright Virgin Choir she winds her Arms.
Say, shall the Wealth by Kings possest,
Or the rich Diadems They wear,
Or all the Treasures of the East,
Purchase one Lock of my Licymnia's Hair?
Or the rich Diadems They wear,
Or all the Treasures of the East,
Purchase one Lock of my Licymnia's Hair?
While now her bending Neck she plies
Backward to meet the burning Kiss,
Then with an easy Cruelty denies,
And wishes you would snatch, not ask the Bliss.
Backward to meet the burning Kiss,
Then with an easy Cruelty denies,
And wishes you would snatch, not ask the Bliss.
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Ode XIII.
[Whoever rais'd and planted Thee]
Whoever rais'd and planted Thee,
Unlucky and pernicious Tree,
In Hour accurs'd with impious Hand
(Thou Bane and Scandal of my Land)
Well may I think the Parricide
In Father's Blood his Soul had dyed,
Or plung'd his Dagger in the Breast
Of his deep-slumbering, midnight Guest,
Or temper'd every baleful Juice,
Which poisonous Colchian Glebes produce,
Or if a blacker Crime be known,
That Crime the Wretch had made his own,
Who on my harmless Grounds and me
Bestow'd Thee, luckless, falling Tree.
Unlucky and pernicious Tree,
In Hour accurs'd with impious Hand
(Thou Bane and Scandal of my Land)
Well may I think the Parricide
In Father's Blood his Soul had dyed,
Or plung'd his Dagger in the Breast
Of his deep-slumbering, midnight Guest,
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Which poisonous Colchian Glebes produce,
Or if a blacker Crime be known,
That Crime the Wretch had made his own,
Who on my harmless Grounds and me
Bestow'd Thee, luckless, falling Tree.
While Dangers hourly round us rise
No Caution guards us from Surprize.
All other Deaths the Sailor dares,
Who yet the raging Ocean fears;
The Parthian views with deep Dismay,
The Roman Chains and firm Array;
The Roman dreads the Parthian's Speed,
His flying War and backward Reed;
While Death, unheeded, sweeps away
The World, his everlasting Prey.
No Caution guards us from Surprize.
All other Deaths the Sailor dares,
Who yet the raging Ocean fears;
The Parthian views with deep Dismay,
The Roman Chains and firm Array;
The Roman dreads the Parthian's Speed,
His flying War and backward Reed;
While Death, unheeded, sweeps away
The World, his everlasting Prey.
How near was I those dreary Plains
Where Pluto's auburn Consort reigns,
Where awful sits the Judge of Hell,
Where pious Spirits blissful dwell,
Where Sappho in melodious Strains
Of cruel Calumny complains,
Alcæus strikes the golden Strings,
And Seas, and War, and Exile sings?
Thus while they strike the various Lyre
The Ghosts the sacred Sounds admire;
But when Alcæus lifts the Strain
To Deeds of War and Tyrants slain,
In thicker Crouds the shadowy Throng
Drink deeper down the martial Song.
What Wonder? When with bending Ears
The Dog of Hell astonish'd hears,
And, in the Furies Hair entwin'd,
The Snakes with chearful Horrour wind,
While charm'd by the melodious Strain
The tortur'd Ghosts forget their Pain,
Nor Lyon's Rage, nor Lynx's Flight,
Orion's raptur'd Soul delight.
Where Pluto's auburn Consort reigns,
Where awful sits the Judge of Hell,
Where pious Spirits blissful dwell,
Where Sappho in melodious Strains
Of cruel Calumny complains,
Alcæus strikes the golden Strings,
And Seas, and War, and Exile sings?
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The Ghosts the sacred Sounds admire;
But when Alcæus lifts the Strain
To Deeds of War and Tyrants slain,
In thicker Crouds the shadowy Throng
Drink deeper down the martial Song.
What Wonder? When with bending Ears
The Dog of Hell astonish'd hears,
And, in the Furies Hair entwin'd,
The Snakes with chearful Horrour wind,
While charm'd by the melodious Strain
The tortur'd Ghosts forget their Pain,
Nor Lyon's Rage, nor Lynx's Flight,
Orion's raptur'd Soul delight.
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Ode XIV. To Postumus.
How swiftly glide our flying Years!
Alas! nor Piety, nor Tears
Can stop the fleeting Day;
Deep-furrow'd Wrinkles, posting Age,
And Death's unconquerable Rage,
Are Strangers to Delay.
Alas! nor Piety, nor Tears
Can stop the fleeting Day;
Deep-furrow'd Wrinkles, posting Age,
And Death's unconquerable Rage,
Are Strangers to Delay.
Though every Day a Bull should bleed
To Pluto, bootless were the Deed,
The Monarch tearless reigns,
Where Vultur-tortur'd Tityos lies,
And triple Geryon's monstrous Size
The gloomy Wave detains.
To Pluto, bootless were the Deed,
The Monarch tearless reigns,
Where Vultur-tortur'd Tityos lies,
And triple Geryon's monstrous Size
The gloomy Wave detains.
Whoever tastes of earthly Food
Is doom'd to pass the joyless Flood,
And hear the Stygian Roar;
The sceptred King, who rules the Earth,
The labouring Hind of humbler Birth,
Must reach the distant Shore.
Is doom'd to pass the joyless Flood,
And hear the Stygian Roar;
The sceptred King, who rules the Earth,
The labouring Hind of humbler Birth,
Must reach the distant Shore.
The broken Surge of Adria's Main,
Hoarse-sounding, we avoid in vain,
And Mars in Blood-stain'd Arms;
The Southern Blast in vain we fear,
And Autumn's Life-annoying Air
With idle Fears alarms;
Hoarse-sounding, we avoid in vain,
And Mars in Blood-stain'd Arms;
The Southern Blast in vain we fear,
And Autumn's Life-annoying Air
With idle Fears alarms;
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For all must see Cocytus flow,
Whose gloomy Water sadly slow
Strays through the dreary Soil,
The guilty Maids, an ill-fam'd Train!
And, Sisyphus, thy Labours vain
Condemn'd to endless Toil.
Whose gloomy Water sadly slow
Strays through the dreary Soil,
The guilty Maids, an ill-fam'd Train!
And, Sisyphus, thy Labours vain
Condemn'd to endless Toil.
Thy pleasing Consort must be left,
And You of Villa's, Lands, bereft,
Must to the Shades descend;
The Cypress only, hated Tree!
Of all thy much-lov'd Groves, shall Thee,
Its short-liv'd Lord attend.
And You of Villa's, Lands, bereft,
Must to the Shades descend;
The Cypress only, hated Tree!
Of all thy much-lov'd Groves, shall Thee,
Its short-liv'd Lord attend.
Then shall thy worthier Heir discharge
And set th'imprison'd Casks at large
And dye the Floor with Wine
So rich and precious, not the Feasts
Of Pontiffes chear their ravish'd Guests
With Liquor more divine.
And set th'imprison'd Casks at large
And dye the Floor with Wine
So rich and precious, not the Feasts
Of Pontiffes chear their ravish'd Guests
With Liquor more divine.
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Ode XV.
[In royal Pride our Buildings rise]
In royal Pride our Buildings rise,
The useless Plough neglected lies;
Ponds, broad as Lakes, our Fields o'er-spread,
And barren Planes high wave the Head
Above the Elm, while all around,
Wafting their Fragrance o'er the Ground
Where flourish'd once the Olive Shade
And its rich Master's Cares repaid,
The Violet and Myrtle greets
The Sense—a Luxury of Sweets!
While vainly would Apollo's Ray
Through our thick Laurels pour the Day.
The useless Plough neglected lies;
Ponds, broad as Lakes, our Fields o'er-spread,
And barren Planes high wave the Head
Above the Elm, while all around,
Wafting their Fragrance o'er the Ground
Where flourish'd once the Olive Shade
And its rich Master's Cares repaid,
The Violet and Myrtle greets
The Sense—a Luxury of Sweets!
While vainly would Apollo's Ray
Through our thick Laurels pour the Day.
Not such were Cato's stern Decrees,
Nor Romulus by Arts like these
In Wisdom form'd th'imperial Sway
And bid th'unwilling World obey.
Though small each personal Estate,
The public Revenues were great;
Arcaydes were then by Law confin'd,
Nor open'd to the Northern Wind:
The casual Turf, where Fortune pleas'd,
The private Dwelling humbly rais'd,
While awful to the Powers divine,
Grateful They built the sacred Shrine,
And high their public Structures shone,
Enrich'd with ornamental Stone.
Nor Romulus by Arts like these
In Wisdom form'd th'imperial Sway
And bid th'unwilling World obey.
Though small each personal Estate,
The public Revenues were great;
Arcaydes were then by Law confin'd,
Nor open'd to the Northern Wind:
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The private Dwelling humbly rais'd,
While awful to the Powers divine,
Grateful They built the sacred Shrine,
And high their public Structures shone,
Enrich'd with ornamental Stone.
Ode XVI. To Pompeius Grosphus.
When Clouds the Moon's fair Lustre hide,
No Stars the doubtful Helm to guide;
The Sailor mid the raging Seas
Suppliant implores the Gods for Ease;
For Ease, the warlike Sons of Thrace,
The Medes, whom shining Quivers grace,
For Ease, that never can be sold
For Gems, for Purple, or for Gold.
For neither Wealth, nor Power controul
The sickly Tumults of the Soul,
Or bid the Cares to stand aloof,
Which hover round the vaulted Roof.
No Stars the doubtful Helm to guide;
The Sailor mid the raging Seas
Suppliant implores the Gods for Ease;
For Ease, the warlike Sons of Thrace,
The Medes, whom shining Quivers grace,
For Ease, that never can be sold
For Gems, for Purple, or for Gold.
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The sickly Tumults of the Soul,
Or bid the Cares to stand aloof,
Which hover round the vaulted Roof.
Happy the Man, whose frugal Board
His Father's Plenty can afford;
His gentle Sleep nor anxious Fear
Shall drive away, nor sordid Care
His Father's Plenty can afford;
His gentle Sleep nor anxious Fear
Shall drive away, nor sordid Care
Why do we aim with eager Strife
At Things beyond the Mark of Life?
Creatures, alas! whose boasted Power
Is but the Blessing of an Hour!
To Climates warm'd by other Suns
In vain the wretched Exile runs;
Consuming Cares incessant charge
His Flight, and climb his armed Barge;
Or though he mount the rapid Steed
Care follows with unerring Speed,
Far fleeter than the timorous Hind,
Far fleeter than the driving Wind.
At Things beyond the Mark of Life?
Creatures, alas! whose boasted Power
Is but the Blessing of an Hour!
To Climates warm'd by other Suns
In vain the wretched Exile runs;
Consuming Cares incessant charge
His Flight, and climb his armed Barge;
Or though he mount the rapid Steed
Care follows with unerring Speed,
Far fleeter than the timorous Hind,
Far fleeter than the driving Wind.
He, who can taste without Allay
The present Pleasures of the Day,
Should with an easy, chearful Smile
The Bitterness of Life beguile;
Should all of future Care detest,
For nothing is completely blest.
Achilles perish'd in his Prime,
Tithon was worn away by Time,
And Fate, with lavish Hand, to Me
May grant what it denies to Thee.
The present Pleasures of the Day,
Should with an easy, chearful Smile
The Bitterness of Life beguile;
Should all of future Care detest,
For nothing is completely blest.
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Tithon was worn away by Time,
And Fate, with lavish Hand, to Me
May grant what it denies to Thee.
An hundred bleating Flocks are thine,
Around Thee graze thy lowing Kine;
Neighing thy Mares invite the Reins,
Thy Robes the double Purple stains,
To Me, not unindulgent Fate
Bestow'd a rural, calm Retreat,
With Art to tune the Roman Lyre,
To warm the Song with Grecian Fire,
And scorn, in conscious Virtue proud,
The worthless Malice of the Croud.
Around Thee graze thy lowing Kine;
Neighing thy Mares invite the Reins,
Thy Robes the double Purple stains,
To Me, not unindulgent Fate
Bestow'd a rural, calm Retreat,
With Art to tune the Roman Lyre,
To warm the Song with Grecian Fire,
And scorn, in conscious Virtue proud,
The worthless Malice of the Croud.
Ode XVII. To Mæcenas.
Why will Mæcenas thus complain,
And kill me with th'unkindly Strain?
Nor can the Gods, nor I consent
That You, my Life's great Ornament,
Should sink untimely to the Tomb,
While I survive the fatal Doom.
And kill me with th'unkindly Strain?
Nor can the Gods, nor I consent
That You, my Life's great Ornament,
Should sink untimely to the Tomb,
While I survive the fatal Doom.
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Should You, alas! be snatch'd away,
Wherefore, ah! wherefore should I stay,
My Value lost, no longer whole,
And but possessing half my Soul?
One Day, believe the sacred Oath,
Shall lead the funeral Pomp of Both;
Chearful to Pluto's dark Abode,
With Thee I'll tread the dreary Road,
Nor fell Chimæra's Breath of Fire,
Nor hundred-handed Gyas dire,
Shall ever tear my Friend from Me;
So Justice and the Fates decree.
Wherefore, ah! wherefore should I stay,
My Value lost, no longer whole,
And but possessing half my Soul?
One Day, believe the sacred Oath,
Shall lead the funeral Pomp of Both;
Chearful to Pluto's dark Abode,
With Thee I'll tread the dreary Road,
Nor fell Chimæra's Breath of Fire,
Nor hundred-handed Gyas dire,
Shall ever tear my Friend from Me;
So Justice and the Fates decree.
Whether fair Libra's kinder Sign,
Or Scorpius with an Eye malign
Beheld my Birth (whose gloomy Power
Rules dreadful o'er the natal Hour)
Or Capricorn, with angry Rays
Who shines the Tyrant of the Seas,
With equal Beams our Stars unite,
And strangely shed their mingled Light.
Thee, Jove's bright Influence snatch'd away
From baleful Saturn's impious Ray,
And stop'd the rapid Wings of Fate,
When the full Theatre, elate,
With joyful Transports hail'd thy Name,
And thrice uprais'd the loud Acclaim.
Or Scorpius with an Eye malign
Beheld my Birth (whose gloomy Power
Rules dreadful o'er the natal Hour)
Or Capricorn, with angry Rays
Who shines the Tyrant of the Seas,
With equal Beams our Stars unite,
And strangely shed their mingled Light.
Thee, Jove's bright Influence snatch'd away
From baleful Saturn's impious Ray,
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When the full Theatre, elate,
With joyful Transports hail'd thy Name,
And thrice uprais'd the loud Acclaim.
A Tree, when falling on my Head,
Had surely crush'd Me to the Dead,
But Pan, the Poet's Guardian, broke,
With saving Hand, the destin'd Stroke.
For Thee, let the rich Victim's Blood
Pour forth to Jove its purple Flood;
For Thee, the votive Temple rise;
For Me an humble Lambkin dies.
Had surely crush'd Me to the Dead,
But Pan, the Poet's Guardian, broke,
With saving Hand, the destin'd Stroke.
For Thee, let the rich Victim's Blood
Pour forth to Jove its purple Flood;
For Thee, the votive Temple rise;
For Me an humble Lambkin dies.
Ode XVIII.
[No Walls with Ivory inlaid]
No Walls with Ivory inlaid
Adorn my House, no Colonade
Proudly supports a Citron Beam,
Nor rich with Gold my Cielings flame;
Nor have I, like an Heir unknown,
Seiz'd upon Attalus his Throne;
Nor Dames, to happier Fortunes bred,
Draw down for Me the purple Thread;
Yet with a firm and honest Heart,
Unknowing or of Fraud or Art,
A liberal Vein of Genius blest,
I'm by the Rich and Great carest.
My Patron's Gift, my Sabine Field
Shall all its rural Plenty yield,
And happy in that rural Store,
Of Heaven and Him I ask no more.
Adorn my House, no Colonade
Proudly supports a Citron Beam,
Nor rich with Gold my Cielings flame;
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Seiz'd upon Attalus his Throne;
Nor Dames, to happier Fortunes bred,
Draw down for Me the purple Thread;
Yet with a firm and honest Heart,
Unknowing or of Fraud or Art,
A liberal Vein of Genius blest,
I'm by the Rich and Great carest.
My Patron's Gift, my Sabine Field
Shall all its rural Plenty yield,
And happy in that rural Store,
Of Heaven and Him I ask no more.
Day presses on the Heels of Day,
And Moons increase to their Decay;
But You, with thoughtless Pride elate,
Unconscious of impending Fate,
Command the pillar'd Dome to rise,
When lo! thy Tomb forgotten lies;
And, though the Waves indignant roar,
Forward You urge the Baian Shore,
While Earth's too narrow Bounds in vain
Thy guilty Progress would restrain.
And Moons increase to their Decay;
But You, with thoughtless Pride elate,
Unconscious of impending Fate,
Command the pillar'd Dome to rise,
When lo! thy Tomb forgotten lies;
And, though the Waves indignant roar,
Forward You urge the Baian Shore,
While Earth's too narrow Bounds in vain
Thy guilty Progress would restrain.
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What can this impious Avarice stay?
Their sacred Landmarks torn away,
You plunge into your Neighbour's Grounds,
And overleap your Client's Bounds.
Helpless the Wife and Husband flee,
And in their Arms, expell'd by Thee
Their houshold Gods, ador'd in vain,
Their Infants too, a sordid Train.
Their sacred Landmarks torn away,
You plunge into your Neighbour's Grounds,
And overleap your Client's Bounds.
Helpless the Wife and Husband flee,
And in their Arms, expell'd by Thee
Their houshold Gods, ador'd in vain,
Their Infants too, a sordid Train.
Yet destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall Hell's rapacious Courts await
This wealthy Lord—
Then whither tend thy wide Demaines?
For Earth impartial entertains
Her various Sons, and in her Breast
Monarchs and Beggars equal rest.
Shall Hell's rapacious Courts await
This wealthy Lord—
Then whither tend thy wide Demaines?
For Earth impartial entertains
Her various Sons, and in her Breast
Monarchs and Beggars equal rest.
Nor Gold could bribe, nor Art deceive
The gloomy Life-guard of the Grave,
Backward to tread the shadowy Way,
And waft Prometheus into Day.
Yet He, who Tantalus detains
With all his haughty Race in Chains,
Invok'd or not, the Wretch receives,
And from the Toils of Life relieves.
The gloomy Life-guard of the Grave,
Backward to tread the shadowy Way,
And waft Prometheus into Day.
Yet He, who Tantalus detains
With all his haughty Race in Chains,
Invok'd or not, the Wretch receives,
And from the Toils of Life relieves.
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Ode XIX. To Bacchus.
I saw (let future Times believe)
The God of Wine his Lectures give,
Midst Rocks far distant was the Scene;
With Ears erect the Satyrs stood,
With every Goddess of the Wood,
Listening th'instructive, solemn Strain.
The God of Wine his Lectures give,
Midst Rocks far distant was the Scene;
With Ears erect the Satyrs stood,
With every Goddess of the Wood,
Listening th'instructive, solemn Strain.
The recent Terrour heaves my Breast,
Yet with th'inspiring Power possest,
Tumultuous Joys my Soul have warm'd;
Dreadful, who shak'st the Ivy-spear,
Thy Votary thus prostrate hear,
And be thy Rage, thy Rage disarm'd.
Yet with th'inspiring Power possest,
Tumultuous Joys my Soul have warm'd;
Dreadful, who shak'st the Ivy-spear,
Thy Votary thus prostrate hear,
And be thy Rage, thy Rage disarm'd.
Give Me to sing, by Thee inspir'd,
Thy Priestesses to Madness fir'd:
Fountains of Wine shall pour along,
And, melting from the hollow Tree,
The golden Treasures of the Bee,
And Streams of Milk shall fill the Song.
Thy Priestesses to Madness fir'd:
Fountains of Wine shall pour along,
And, melting from the hollow Tree,
The golden Treasures of the Bee,
And Streams of Milk shall fill the Song.
Fair Ariadne's Crown shall rise,
And add new Glories to the Skies;
While I to listening Nations tell,
How impious Pentheus' Palace burn'd,
With hideous Ruin overturn'd,
And how the mad Lycurgus fell.
And add new Glories to the Skies;
While I to listening Nations tell,
How impious Pentheus' Palace burn'd,
With hideous Ruin overturn'd,
And how the mad Lycurgus fell.
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Indus and Ganges own thy Sway,
Barbaric Seas thy Power obey,
And o'er the pathless Mountain's Height,
Her Head with horrid Snakes enroll'd,
Which harmless writhe their angry Fold,
Thy raptur'd Priestess speeds her Flight.
Barbaric Seas thy Power obey,
And o'er the pathless Mountain's Height,
Her Head with horrid Snakes enroll'd,
Which harmless writhe their angry Fold,
Thy raptur'd Priestess speeds her Flight.
When rising fierce in impious Arms,
The Giant-Race with dire Alarms
Assail'd the sacred Realms of Light,
With Lion-Wrath, and dreadful Paw,
With Blood-besmear'd and foaming Jaw
You put their horrid Chief to flight.
The Giant-Race with dire Alarms
Assail'd the sacred Realms of Light,
With Lion-Wrath, and dreadful Paw,
With Blood-besmear'd and foaming Jaw
You put their horrid Chief to flight.
For Dancing form'd, for Love and Wit,
You seem'd for War's rude Toils unfit,
And polish'd to each softer Grace:
But dreadful when in Arms You shone,
You made the fatal Art your own,
In War excelling as in Peace.
You seem'd for War's rude Toils unfit,
And polish'd to each softer Grace:
But dreadful when in Arms You shone,
You made the fatal Art your own,
In War excelling as in Peace.
205
With golden Horn supremely bright,
You darted round the bending Light
Far-beaming through the Gloom of Hell:
When Cerberus, with Fear amaz'd,
Forgot his Rage, and fawning gaz'd,
And at thy Feet adoring fell.
You darted round the bending Light
Far-beaming through the Gloom of Hell:
When Cerberus, with Fear amaz'd,
Forgot his Rage, and fawning gaz'd,
And at thy Feet adoring fell.
Ode XX. To Mæcenas.
With strong unwonted Wing I rise,
A two-form'd Poet through the Skies.
Far above Envy will I soar,
And tread this worthless Earth no more.
For know, ye Rivals of my Fame,
Though lowly born, a vulgar Name,
I will not condescend to die,
Nor in the Stygian Waters lie.
A two-form'd Poet through the Skies.
Far above Envy will I soar,
And tread this worthless Earth no more.
For know, ye Rivals of my Fame,
Though lowly born, a vulgar Name,
I will not condescend to die,
Nor in the Stygian Waters lie.
207
A rougher Skin now clothes my Thighs,
Into a Swan's fair Form I rise,
And feel the feather'd Plumage shed
Its Down, and o'er my Shoulders spread.
Swift as with Dædalean Wing,
Harmonious Bird, I'll soaring sing,
And in my Flight, the foamy Shores,
Where Bosphorus tremendous roars,
The Regions bound by Northern Cold,
And Lybia's burning Sands behold.
Then to the learned Sons of Spain,
To him, who ploughs the Scythian Main,
To him, who with dissembled Fears,
Conscious, the Roman Arms reveres,
To Him, who drinks the rapid Rhone,
Shall Horace, deathless Bard, be known.
Into a Swan's fair Form I rise,
And feel the feather'd Plumage shed
Its Down, and o'er my Shoulders spread.
Swift as with Dædalean Wing,
Harmonious Bird, I'll soaring sing,
And in my Flight, the foamy Shores,
Where Bosphorus tremendous roars,
The Regions bound by Northern Cold,
And Lybia's burning Sands behold.
Then to the learned Sons of Spain,
To him, who ploughs the Scythian Main,
To him, who with dissembled Fears,
Conscious, the Roman Arms reveres,
To Him, who drinks the rapid Rhone,
Shall Horace, deathless Bard, be known.
My Friends, the funeral Sorrow spare,
The plaintive Song, and tender Tear;
Nor let the Voice of Grief profane,
With loud Laments, the solemn Scene;
Nor o'er your Poet's empty Urn
With useless, idle Sorrows mourn.
The plaintive Song, and tender Tear;
Nor let the Voice of Grief profane,
With loud Laments, the solemn Scene;
Nor o'er your Poet's empty Urn
With useless, idle Sorrows mourn.
End of the Second Book.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |