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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 XXIV. Against Misers.
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305

Ode XXIV. Against Misers.

Though of th'unrifled Gold possest
Of gorgeous Ind, and Araby the blest:
Though with hewn, massy Rocks You raise
Your haughty Structures midst th'indignant Seas,
Yet, soon as Fate shall round your Head,
With adamantine Strength, its Terrours spread,
Not all the Pomp of Earth shall save
Your Soul from Fear, your Body from the Grave.
Happy the Scythians, houseless Train!
Who roll their vagrant Dwellings o'er the Plain;
Happy the Getes fierce and brave,
Whom no fix'd Laws of Property enslave;
While open stands the golden Grain,
The freeborn Fruitage of th'unbounded Plain,
Succeeding yearly to the Toil,
They plow, with equal Tasks, the public Soil.

307

Not there the guiltless Step-dame knows
The baleful Draught for Orphans to compose;
No Wife high-portion'd rules her Spouse,
Or trusts her essenc'd Lover's faithless Vows,
The Lovers there for Dowry claim
The Father's Virtue, and the spotless Fame,
Which dares not break the nuptial Tie,
Polluted Crime! whose Portion is to die.
Oh! that some Patriot, wise and good,
Would stop this impious Thirst of civil Blood,
And joy on Statues to behold
His Name, The Father of the State, enroll'd!
Oh! let him quell our spreading Shame,
And live to latest Times an honour'd Name.
Though living Virtue we despise,
We follow her, when dead, with envious Eyes.
But wherefore do we thus complain,
If Justice wear her awful Sword in vain?
And what are Laws, unless obey'd
By the same moral Virtues they were made?
If neither burning Heats extreme,
Where Eastern Phœbus darts his fiercest Beam,

309

Nor where the Northern Tempests blow,
And freezes down to Earth th'eternal Show,
Nor the wild Terrours of the Main
Can daunt the Merchant, and his Voyage restrain;
If Want, ah dire Disgrace! we fear,
From thence with Vigour act, with Patience bear,
While Virtue's Paths untrodden lie,
Those Paths, that lead us upwards to the Sky?
Oh! let us consecrate to Jove
(Rome shall with Shouts the pious Deed approve)
Our Gems, our Gold, pernicious Store!
Or plunge into the Deep the baleful Ore.
If you indeed your Crimes detest,
Tear forth, uprooted from the youthful Breast,
The Seeds of each deprav'd Desire,
While manly Toils a firmer Soul inspire.
Nor knows our Youth, of noblest Race,
To mount the manag'd Steed, or urge the Chace;
More skill'd in the mean Arts of Vice,
The whirling Troque, or law-forbidden Dice:

311

And yet this worthless Heir to raise
To hasty Wealth, the perjur'd Sire betrays
His Partners, Coheirs, and his Friends;
But, while in Heaps his wicked Wealth ascends,
He is not of his Wish possest,
There's something wanting still to make him blest.