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 honor'd name.
Tho' 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 Phoebus darts his fiercest beam,
Nor where the northern tempests blow,
And freezes down to earth th' eternal snow,
Nor the wild terrors of the main

Can daunt the merchant, and his voyage restrain ;
If want, ah dire disgrace! we fear,

From thence with vigor 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:

And yet this worthless heir to raise

To hasty wealth, the perjur'd sire betrays
His partners, co-heirs, 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.

ODE XXV.

TO BACCHUS.

Bacchus, when by thee possest,

What hallow'd spirit fills my raving breast?
How am I wrapt to dreary glades,
To gloomy caverns, unfrequented shades?
In what recesses shall I raise

My voice to sacred Cæsar's deathless praise,
Amid the stars to bid him shine,

Rank'd in the councils of the powers divine?
Some bolder song shall wake the lyre,

And sounds unknown its trembling voice inspire.
Thus o'er the steepy mountain's height,
Starting from sleep, thy priestess takes her flight;
Amaz'd beholds the Thracian snows,

With languid streams where icy Heber flows,
Or Rhodope's high-towering head,
Where frantic quires barbarian measures tread.
O'er pathless rocks; thro' lonely groves
With what delight my raptur'd spirit roves!
O thou, who rul'st the Naiad's breast;
By whom the bacchanalian maids, possest
With sacred rage inspir'd by thee,

Tear from the bursting glebe th' uprooted tree,
Nothing or low, or mean, I sing,

No mortal sound shall shake the swelling string.

The venturous theme my soul alarms,

But warm'd by thee the thought of danger charms, When vine-crown'd Bacchus leads the way,

What can his daring votaries dismay?

ODE XXVI.

I

TO VENUS.

Lately was fit to be call'd upon duty,

And gallantly fought in the service of beauty; But now crown'd with conquest I hang up my arms, My harp that campaign'd it in midnight alarms. Here fix on this wall, here my ensigns of wars, By the statue of Venus, my torches and bars, And arrows, which threaten'd by Cupid their liege, War, war on all doors, that dare hold out a siege.

O goddess of Cyprus, and Memphis, that know, Nor the coldness or weight of love-chilling snow, With an high-lifted stroke, yet gently severe, Avenge me on Chloe the proud and the fair.

ODE XXVII.

TO GALATEA.

FIERCE from her cubs the ravening fox,

Or wolf from steep Lanuvian rocks,

Or pregnant bitch, or chattering jay,
Ill-omen'd guide the guilty on their way;

Serpents, like arrows, sidelong thwart
The road, and make their horses start;
But for the maid, for whom I fear,

I view the doubtful skies, a prudent seer,

And bid the chanting raven rise

When Phoebus gilds his orient skies,
Ere speeds the shower-boding crow

To lakes, whose languid waters cease to flow.

Happy may Galatea prove,

Nor yet unmindful of our love,

For now no luckless pye prevails,

Nor vagrant crow forbids the swelling sails.

Yet see, what storms tumultuous rise
While prone Orion sweeps the skies;
Too well I know the Adrian main,
And western winds, perfidiously serene.

Oh! may the rising tempest shake
Our foes, and dreadful o'er them break;
For them the blackening ocean roar,

And angry surges lash the trembling shore.