ODE II.

TO AUGUSTUS CÆSAR.

OW Jove enough of snow and direful hail

NOW

On earth has pour'd: to see his red right hand E'en sacred temples with the bolt assail,

Awe-struck the people stand.

The nations dread lest that sad age come back,
When Pyrrha groan'd at sight of monsters new,
And Proteus to the mountains drove his pack,
Their lofty tops to view :

When fishes in the tallest elm stuck fast,

Where late his resting-place had made the dove,
And deer swam frighten'd in the ocean vast,
That roll'd the plains above.

His waters by th' Etruscan shore repell'd,
The monuments of Rome's great king to crush,
And Vesta's sacred fanes, have we beheld
The yellow Tiber rush :

Whilst he t' avenge his too sad Ilia's woes,
Uxorious river, boasts; and, spreading wide,
'Gainst Jove's consent, his left-hand bank o'erflows
With his resistless tide.

How 'gainst themselves the sword the people drew,
Which better had the heavy Persian slain ;

How fought, made scarce their parents' vices through, Our youth shall learn with pain.

Quem vocet Divům populus ruentis
Imperî rebus? prece quâ fatigent
Virgines sanctæ minùs audientem
Carmina Vestam?

Cui dabit partes scelus expiandi
Jupiter? tandem venias, precamur,
Nube candentes humeros amictus,
Augur Apollo.

Sive tu mavis, Erycina ridens,

Quam jocus circumvolat, et Cupido: Sive neglectum genus, et nepotes Respicis, auctor,

Heu nimis longo satiate ludo;

Quem juvat clamor, galeæque læves,
Acer et Mauri peditis cruentum

Vultus in hostem.

Sive mutatâ juvenem figurâ

Ales in terris imitaris, almæ

Filius Maiæ, patiens vocari
Cæsaris ultor :

Serus in cœlum redeas; diuque

Lætus intersis populo Quirini ;

Neve te nostris vitiis iniquum
Ocyor aura

Tollat.

Hic magnos potiùs triumphos, Hìc ames dici pater, atque princeps: Neu sinas Medos equitare inultos, Te duce, Cæsar.

What God shall we to prop the falling state
Invoke? What vows her holy Virgins make
To wearied Vesta, less inclined of late

Heed of their pray'rs to take?

To whom by Jove shall be the part allow'd
Our crime to purge? Come to us then, we pray,
Thy glowing shoulders veiling with a cloud,
Prophetic God of Day;

Or smiling Erycina thou incline,

Whom Mirth and Cupid on the wing attend;
Or thou, on thy neglected race and line,
Their Sire, thy aspect bend,

Tired of thy sport, alas! too long pursued;
Whom battle-shouts and polish'd helms delight,
And Moorish soldier's savage face when view'd
With bloody foe in fight.

Or changed thy form, dear Maia's winged son, Do thou on earth a stripling imitate,

Letting thyself be greeted as the one

T'avenge great Cæsar's fate.

To heav'n return not till a distant time,
But long, propitious, with the Romans stay;
Nor sooner go, indignant at our crime,
Borne on the blast away.

Here mighty triumphs rather choose t' abide,
Here Prince and Father to be call'd allow ;
Nor suffer unchastised the Mede to ride,

Our chief, O Cæsar, thou.

ODE III.

SECUNDAM VIRGILIO NAVIGATIONEM PRECATUR.

IC te Diva potens Cypri,

Sic fratres Helenæ, lucida sidera,

Ventorumque regat pater,
Obstrictis aliis, præter Iapyga,
Navis, quæ tibi creditum.
Debes Virgilium, finibus Atticis

Reddas incolumem, precor;
Et serves animæ dimidium meæ.
Illi robur et æs triplex

Circa pectus erat, qui fragilem truci
Commisit pelago ratem

Primus; nec timuit præcipitem Africum
Decertantem Aquilonibus,

Nec tristes Hyadas, nec rabiem Noti;

Quo non arbiter Adriæ

Major tollere, seu ponere vult, freta.

Quem mortis timuit gradum,

Qui siccis oculis monstra natantia,
Qui vidit mare turgidum, et
Infames scopulos Acroceraunia?
Nequicquam Deus abscidit

Prudens Oceano dissociabili

Terras, si tamen impia

Non tangenda rates transiliunt vada.

ODE III.

TO THE SHIP IN WHICH VIRGIL WAS SAILING TO ATHENS.

AY Cyprus' Queen divine so guide thy way,

So Helen's brothers, stars who brightly glow, And so the Father whom the winds obey,

None save Iapyx being allow'd to blow,
That thou, O ship, who dost our debtor stand
Of Virgil, to thy care confided, may
Him safely render on th' Athenean strand,
And of my soul preserve the half, I pray.
With oak and triple brass a breast had he
Encompass'd strongly round, the fragile mast
Who first committed to the savage sea :

And fear had none of Afric's headlong blast
With winds contending from the North that sweep,
Of Hyads sad, or Notus in his rage;

Than whom no greater pow'r the waters deep
Of Adria know, to lift them or assuage.
Which of the forms of death's approach fear'd he,
With dry eye who the floating monsters view'd,

And saw the turgid billows of the sea,

And rocks Acroceraunian wreck-bestrew'd?

To little purpose has Divine foresight

Lands separated by th' unsocial main,

If impious vessels, in the Gods' despight,

Leap channels that uncross'd should aye remain.