'Tis fit the o'er effem'nate mind More apt with Grecian hoop to toy, His partner or his guest defrauds— Still grows th' ill-gotten store; Deemed ever incomplete, the hoards Lack yet a something more. LIBER I.-CARMEN XV. NEREI VATICINIUM DE EXCIDIO TROJE. PASTOR Cum traheret per freta navibus Ventos, ut caneret fera Nereus fata: Mala ducis avi domum, Heu! heu! Quantus equis, quantus adest viris Sudor! Quanta moves funera Dardanæ Genti! Jam galeam Pallas et ægida Currusque et rabiem parat. BOOK I.-ODE XV. THE PROPHECY OF NEREUS. As o'er the main the faithless Shepherd bore The cruel fates: "Ill omened dost thou hold Thy course with her, whom Greece shall soon reclaim, With thousands burning to avenge her shame; Thy nuptial ties, and Priam's length'n'd sway. "Alas! through thee what toils the steeds distress, Nequicquam, Veneris præsidio ferox, Pectes cæsariem, grataque feminis Imbelli cithara carmina divides; Nequicquam thalamo graves Hastas et calami spicula Gnosii Vitabis, strepitumque et celerem sequi Ajacem. Tamen heu! serus adulteros Crines pulvere collines. Non Laërtiaden, exitium tuæ Gentis, non Pylium Nestora respicis? Urgent impavidi te Salaminius Teucer, te Stheneleus sciens Pugnæ, sive opus est imperitare equis, Non auriga piger. Merionen quoque Nosces. Ecce furit te reperire atrox Tydides melior patre, Quem tu, cervus uti vallis in altera Visum parte lupum graminis immemor, Sublimi fugies mollis anhelitu, Non hoc pollicitus tuæ. Pallas prepares. In vain on Venus' care Relying, proud you'll dress your flowing hair, And with the lyre's soft notes, to women sweet, Alternate strains in silken dalliance mete; "In vain you'll shun the Gnossian arrows' flight, Pursue thee close! Bold Merion too thou 'lt know. With fury raging, bent to lay thee low, His sire surpassing in his deeds of old, Swift through the field, fierce Diomede behold! "Whom as a stag, in some fair valley wide, Espies a wolf, far on its distant side, And pasture leaves; so shalt thou, coward, fly With breath deep panting, and the vaunts belie Made to thy bride;—Impending fates shall loom Awhile o'er Ilion;-and her matrons' doom |