 | The Literary Works of James Smetham |  |
FROM HORACE
Dupe of the fool's philosophy,
For the fool's heaven I spread my sail,
And prayed cold prayers without avail,
And sent no incense to the sky.
For the fool's heaven I spread my sail,
And prayed cold prayers without avail,
And sent no incense to the sky.
Lo! fierce across the tranquil blue
Jove's chariot sped, his white bolt fell,
Dividing swift the gates of hell,
Brute earth, and wandering waters too.
Jove's chariot sped, his white bolt fell,
Dividing swift the gates of hell,
Brute earth, and wandering waters too.
The roots of shuddering Atlas quake,
I trembling turn my vagrant prow,
And hasten back my knee to bow
To Him who thus in thunder spake.
I trembling turn my vagrant prow,
And hasten back my knee to bow
To Him who thus in thunder spake.
For God can smite the highest down,
And lift the lowliest from beneath,
While fortune, strong as love or death,
Gives to the churl the monarch's crown.
And lift the lowliest from beneath,
While fortune, strong as love or death,
Gives to the churl the monarch's crown.
| The Literary Works of James Smetham | |