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What form of death could him appal, who view'd With


undimm’d the monsters of the deep, The sea tempestuous, and thy rocks so rude,

Acroceraunia, ill-omen'd steep ?
The prudent God has sever'd all in vain

The lands by ocean interposing wide,
If vessels still, with impious disdain,

Bound o'er the waters meant not to be tried.

Presumptuous enough all risks to run,

Mankind through crimes forbidden rush unaw'd ; Presumptuous, too, Iapetus's son

Brought fire on earth by his unhappy fraud. And when the fire was thus by stealth convey'd

From the ætherial dome, a novel corps Of fevers with consumption earth o'erlaid ;

And death's stern certainty, remote before,

Accelerated then its gradual pace.

Dædalus too essay’d, on wings to none Of human kind allow'd, the realms of space

Herculean labour burst through Acheron.


Nil mortalibus arduum est;

Coelum ipsum petimus stultitiâ ; neque
Per nostrum patimur scelus

Iracunda Jovem ponere fulmina.



SOLVITUR acris hyems gratâ vice veris et Favonî,

Trahuntque siccas machinæ carinas. Ac neque jam stabulis gaudet pecus, aut arator igni ;

Nec prata canis albicant pruinis.

Jam Cytherea choros ducit Venus, imminente Lunâ:

Junctæque Nymphis Gratiæ decentes

There's nought too arduous for man to prove;

E'en heaven itself we aim at in our pride ; Nor through our madness do we suffer Jove

To lay his vengeful thunderbolts aside.



STERN winter is relax'd once more

By the pleasant change of spring,
And soft Favonius; while from shore

Machines the land-dried vessels bring.
And now no more the flocks delight

In stalls, or ploughmen in the hearth;
Nor longer now is growing white

With hoary frost the opening earth.

Now Cytherean Venus leads

Beneath th' impending moon the dance :' And the fair Graces o'er the meads,

Mingling with the Nymphs, advance,

Alterno terram quatiunt pede; dum graves Cyclopum

Vulcanus ardens urit officinas.

Nunc decet aut viridi nitidum caput impedire myrto,

Aut flore, terræ quem ferunt solutæ. Nunc et in umbrosis Fauno decet immolare lucis,

Seu poscat agnâ, sive malit hædo.

Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,

Regumque turres. O beate Sestî, Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.

Jam te premet nox, fabulæque Manes,

And hand in hand alternate urge

With lightsome foot the yielding ground; While the Cyclops' heavy forge

Glowing Vulcan flames around.

'Tis fitting now the shining head

To bind again with myrtle green ;
Or flowers that from earth's loosen'd bed,

Springing earliest, are seen. 'Tis fitting now to sacrifice

To Faunus in the leafy grove ; Whether a lamb may best suffice,

Or he a kid would more approve.

At the poor man's lowly hut,

And the lofty towering seats Of potentates, with equal foot,

Pallid Death impartial beats. Oh! happy Sestius, the span

Of life, too short, forbids us quite Remote expectancies to plan :

Thee soon shall fabled Ghosts, and night,

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