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 II. To his Friends.
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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | ||
215
Ode II. To his Friends.
Our hardy Youth should learn to bear
Sharp Want, to rein the warlike Steed,
To hurl the well-directed Spear
With pointed Force, and bid the Parthian bleed.
Sharp Want, to rein the warlike Steed,
To hurl the well-directed Spear
With pointed Force, and bid the Parthian bleed.
Thus form'd in War's tumultuous Trade
Through Summer's Heat, and Winter's Cold,
Some Tyrant's Queen, or blooming Maid,
Shall from her Walls the martial Youth behold,
Through Summer's Heat, and Winter's Cold,
Some Tyrant's Queen, or blooming Maid,
Shall from her Walls the martial Youth behold,
Deep-sighing lest her royal Spouse,
Untaught the deathful Sword to wield,
That Lion, in his Wrath, should rouse,
Whom furious Rage drives through th'ensanguin'd Field.
Untaught the deathful Sword to wield,
That Lion, in his Wrath, should rouse,
Whom furious Rage drives through th'ensanguin'd Field.
What Joys, what Glories round Him wait,
Who bravely for his Country dies!
While, with dishonest Wounds, shall Fate
Relentless stab the Coward as he flies.
Who bravely for his Country dies!
While, with dishonest Wounds, shall Fate
Relentless stab the Coward as he flies.
217
With stainless Lustre Virtue shines,
A base Repulse nor knows, nor fears;
Asserts her Honours, nor declines,
As the light Air of Crouds uncertain veers;
A base Repulse nor knows, nor fears;
Asserts her Honours, nor declines,
As the light Air of Crouds uncertain veers;
To him, who not deserves to die,
She shews the Paths, which Heroes trod,
Then bids Him boldly tempt the Sky,
Spurn off his mortal Clay, and rise a God.
She shews the Paths, which Heroes trod,
Then bids Him boldly tempt the Sky,
Spurn off his mortal Clay, and rise a God.
To Silence due Rewards we give,
And they, who Mysteries reveal
Beneath my Roof shall never live,
Shall never hoist with me the doubtful Sail.
And they, who Mysteries reveal
Beneath my Roof shall never live,
Shall never hoist with me the doubtful Sail.
When Jove in Anger strikes the Blow,
Oft with the Bad the Righteous bleed:
Yet with sure Steps, though lame and slow,
Vengeance o'ertakes the trembling Villain's Speed.
Oft with the Bad the Righteous bleed:
Yet with sure Steps, though lame and slow,
Vengeance o'ertakes the trembling Villain's Speed.
A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | ||