DE

ODE IV.

TO CALLIOPE.

ESCEND from heaven, and in a lengthen'd strain,

Queen of melodious sounds, the song sustain, Or on the voice high-rais'd, the breathing flute, The lyre of golden tone, or sweet Phœbean lute.

Hark! some celestial voice I raptur'd hear!
Or does a pleasing phrensy charm my ear?
Through hallow'd groves I stray, where streams
beneath

From lucid fountains flow, and zephyrs balmy breathe.

Fatigued 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.

If by the Muse's faithful guidance led,

Or Libya's thirsty sands I'll fearless tread,

Or climb the venturous bark, and launch from shore, Though Bosphorus in storms with madding horrors

roar.

Nor Britons, of inhospitable strain,

Nor quiver'd Scythians, nor the Caspian main, Nor he who joyous quaffs the thirsty bowl Streaming with horses' blood, shall shake my dauntless soul.

When Cæsar, by your forming arts inspir'd, Cheerful 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;

Gracious from you the lenient counsels 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 pursu'd, With thunder's headlong rage, 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,
Typhæus, or Porphyrion's threatening height,
Or bold Enceladus fierce-darting far

The trunks of trees uptorn, dire archer of the war,

Though with despair and rage inspir'd they rose, To sage Minerva's sounding shield oppose? 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.

He the pure dew of fair Castalia loves,

There bathes his flowing hair, and haunts his natal groves.

Ill-counsell'd force, by its own native weight,
Precipitately falls; with happier fate

While the good gods upraise the just design, And 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 eat its way through Etna unconsum'd.

Such are the pains to lawless lust decreed;
On Tityos' liver shall the vulture feed

With rage ungorg'd, while Pluto stern detains

His amorous rival bound in thrice an hundred chains.

ODE V.

THE PRAISES OF AUGUSTUS.

DREAD Jove in thunder speaks his just domain; On earth, a present god, shall Cæsar reign, Since world-divided Britain owns his sway, And Parthia's haughty sons his high behests obey.

O name of country, once how sacred deem'd! O sad reverse of manners, once esteem'd! While Rome her ancient majesty maintain'd; In his own Capitol while Jove imperial reign'd,

Could they to foreign spousals meanly yield, Whom Crassus led with honour to the field? Have they, to their barbarian lords allied, Grown old in hostile arms beneath a tyrant's pride,

Basely forgetful of the Roman name,

The heaven-descended shields, the Vestal flame,
That wakes eternal, and the peaceful gown,

Those emblems which the Fates with boundless em-. pire crown?

When Regulus refus'd the terms of peace
Inglorious, he foresaw the deep disgrace,
Whose foul example should in ruin end,
And even to latest times our baffled arms attend,

Unless the captive youth in servile chains Should fall unpitied. In the Punic fanes Have I not seen, the patriot captain cried, The Roman ensigns fix'd in monumental pride?

I saw our arms resign'd without a wound; Our free-born citizens in fetters bound; The gates of Carthage open, and the plain, Late by our war laid waste, with culture cloth'd again.

Ransom'd, no doubt, with nobler sense of fame The soldier shall return-Ye purchase shame. When the fair fleece imbibes the dyer's stain, Its native colour lost it never shall regain,

And valour, failing in the soldier's breast, Scorns to resume what cowardice possess'd. When from the toils escap'd the hind shall turn Fierce on her hunters, he the prostrate foe may spurn

In second fight, who felt the fetters bind

His arms enslav'd; who tamely hath resign'd
His sword unstain'd with blood; who might have

died,

'Yet on a faithless foe, with abject soul, relied;

Who for his safety mix'd poor terms of peace Even with the act of war; O foul disgrace! O Carthage, now with rival glories great, And on the ruins rais'd of Rome's dejected state!

The hero spoke; and from his wedded dame And infant-children turn'd, opprest with shame Of his fallen state; their fond embrace repell'd, And sternly on the earth his manly visage held,

Till, by his unexampled counsel sway'd,

Their firm decree the wavering senate made; Then, while his friends the tears of sorrow shed, Amidst the weeping throng the glorious exile sped.

Nor did he not the cruel tortures know, Vengeful, prepar'd by a barbarian foe; Yet, with a countenance serenely gay, He turn'd aside the crowd, who fondly press'd his stay;

As if, when wearied by some client's cause,
After the final sentence of the laws,

Cheerful he hasted to some calm retreat,

To taste the pure delights that bless the rural seat.