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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 IV. To Calliope.
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Ode IV. To Calliope.

Descend from Heaven, and in a lengthen'd Strain,
Queen of melodious Sounds, the Song maintain,
Or on the Voice high-rais'd, the breathing Flute,
The Lyre of golden Tone, or sweet Phœbean Lute.
Hark! the celestial Voice I raptur'd hear!
Or does a pleasing Frenzy charm my Ear?
Through hallow'd Groves I stray, where Streams beneath
From lucid Fountains flow, and Zephyrs balmy breathe.

229

Fatigu'd with Sleep, and youthful Toil of Play,
When on a Mountain's Brow reclin'd I lay
Near to my natal Soil, around my Head
The fabled woodland Doves a verdant Foliage spread;
Matter, be sure, of Wonder most profound
To all the gazing Habitants around,
Who dwell in Acherontia's airy Glades,
Amid the Bantian Woods, or low Ferentum's Meads,
By Snakes of Poison black, and Beasts of Prey,
That thus, in dewy Sleep, unharm'd I lay;
Laurels and Myrtle were around me pil'd,
Not without guardian Gods an animated Child.
Yours, I am ever yours, harmonious Nine,
Whether I joy in Tibur's Vale supine;
Whether I climb the Sabine Mountain's Height,
Or in Præneste's Groves, or Baian Streams delight.
Nor Tree devoted, nor tempestuous Main,
Nor flying Hosts, that swept Philippi's Plain
In fearful Rout, your filial Bard destroy'd,
While in your Springs divine, and choral Sports he joy'd.

231

When by the Muse's faithful Guidance led,
Or Lybia's thirsty Sands I'll fearless tread,
Or climb the venturous Bark, and launch from Shore,
Though Bosphorus arous'd with madding Horrours roar.
Nor Britons, of inhospitable Strain,
Nor quiver'd Scythians, nor the Caspian Main,
Nor he who joyous quaffs the thirsty Bowl,
Streaming with Horse's Blood, shall shake my dauntless Soul.
When Cæsar, by your forming Arts inspir'd,
Chearful disbands his Troops, of Conquest tir'd,
And yields to willing Peace his laurel'd Spoils,
In the Pierian Cave you charm the Hero's Toils;

233

Gracious from you the lenient Councils flow,
Which bid the Hero spare his prostrate Foe;
For Cæsar rules like Jove, whose equal Sway
The ponderous Mass of Earth, and stormy Seas obey:
O'er Gods and Mortals, o'er the dreary Plains,
And shadowy Ghosts, supremely just he reigns,
But, dreadful in his Wrath, to Hell pursued,
With falling Thunders dire, the fierce Titanian Brood,
Whose horrid Youth, elate with impious Pride,
Unnumber'd, on their sinewy Force relied;
Mountain on Mountain pil'd they rais'd in Air,
And shook the Throne of Jove, and bad the Thunderer fear.
But what could Mimas, of enormous Might,
Typhœus or Porphyrion's threatening Height,
Or bold Enceladus fierce-darting far
The Trunks of Trees uptorn, dire Archer of the War,

235

To sage Minerva's clashing Shield oppose
Although with headlong Rage inspir'd they rose?
While Vulcan here in Flames devour'd his Way,
There Matron Juno stood, and there the God of Day,
Resolv'd, till he had quell'd th'aspiring Foe,
Never to lay aside th'unerring Bow;
Who the pure Dews of fair Castalia loves,
There bathes his flowing Hair, and haunts his natal Groves.
Ill-counsel'd Force, by its own native Weight,
Headlong to Ruin falls; with happier Fate
While the good Gods upraise the just Design,
But bold, unhallow'd Schemes pursue with Wrath divine.
This Truth shall hundred-handed Gyas prove,
And warm Orion, who with impious Love
Tempting the Goddess of the Sylvan Scene,
Was by her Virgin Darts, gigantic Victim! slain.
On her own Monsters hurl'd with hideous Weight,
Fond Mother Earth deplores her Offspring's Fate,
By Thunders dire to livid Orcus doom'd,
Nor Fire can force its Way through Ætna unconsum'd.

237

Such are the Pains to lawless Lust decreed;
On Tityos' growing Liver Vulturs feed
With Rage ungorg'd, while Pluto stern detains
His amorous Rival bound in thrice an hundred Chains.