Who rule in silence o'er the night,
While we perform the mystic rite,
Be present now, your horrours shed,
In hallow'd vengeance, on his head.
Beneath the forest's gloomy shade
While beasts in slumbers sweet are laid,
Give me the lecher, old and lewd,
By barking village-curs pursued,
Expos'd to laughter, let him shine
In essence- ah! that once was mine.
What shall my strongest potions fail,
And could Medea's charms prevail?
When the fair harlot, proud of heart,
Deep felt the vengeance of her art;
Her gown, with powerful poisons dyed,
In flames enwrapp'd the guilty bride.
Yet every root and herb I know,

And on what steepy depths they grow,
And yet, with essence round him shed,
He sleeps in some bold harlot's bed;
Or walks at large, nor thinks of me,
By some more mighty witch set free.

"But soon the wretch my wrath shall prove,
By spells unwonted taught to love;
Nor shall even Marsian charms have power,
Thy peace, O Vares, to restore.
With stronger drugs, a larger bowl
I'll fill, to bend thy haughty soul;
Sooner the seas to Heaven shall rise,
And earth spring upwards to the skies,
Than you not burn in fierce desire,
As melts this pitch in smoky fire."

The boy, with lenient words, no more
Now strives their pity to implore;
With rage yet doubtful what to speak,
Forth from his lips these curses break :----
"Your spells may right and wrong remove,
But ne'er shall change the wrath of Jove ;
For, while I curse the direful deed,
In vain shall all your victims bleed.
Soon as this tortur'd body dies,
A midnight Fury will I rise:

Then shall my ghost, though form'd of air,
Your cheeks with crooked talons tear,
Unceasing on your entrails prey,
And fright the thoughts of sleep away;
Such horrours shall the guilty know,
Such is the power of gods below.

"Ye filthy hags, with showers of stones
The vengeful crowd shall crush your bones;
Then beasts of prey, and birds of air,
Shall your unburied members tear,
And, while they weep their favourite boy,
My parents shall the vengeful sight enjoy.'

ODE VI.

TO CASSIUS SEVERUS.

You dog, that fearful to provoke The wolf, attack offenceless folk ! Turn hither, if you dare, your spite, And bark at me, prepar'd to bite. For like a hound, or mastiff keen, That guards the shepherd's flocky green, Through the deep snows I boldly chase," With ears erect, the savage race; But you, when with your hideous yelling You fill the grove, at crusts are smelling.

Fierce as Archilochus I glows Like Hipponax a deadly foe. If any mongrel shall assail My character with tooth and nail; What! like a truant boy, shall I Do nothing in revenge-but cry?

ODE VII.

TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.

WHITHER, Oh! whither, impious, do ye run? Why is the sword unsheath'd; the war begun? Has then too little of the Latian blood

Been pour'd on earth, or mixt with Neptune's flood?

Not that the Romans with avenging flame
Might burn the rival of the Roman name,
Or Britons, yet unbroken to our war,
In chains should follow our triumphal car,
But that the Parthian should his vows enjoy,
And Rome, with impious hand, herself destroy,
The rage of wolves and lions is confin'd;
They never prey but on a different kind.
Answer, "From madness rise those horrours dire?
Does angry fate, or guilt, your souls inspire?"
Silent they stand; with stupid wonder gaze,
While the pale cheek their inward guilt betrays.
'Tis so the Fates have cruelly decreed,
That Rome for ancient fratricide must bleed:
The brother's blood, which stain'd our rising wall
On his descendants, loud, for vengeance calls,

ODE IX.

TO MECENAS.

WHEN shall we quaff your old Cacubian wine, Reserv'd for pious feasts and joys divine? Cæsar with conquest comes, and gracious Jove, Who gave that conques, shall our joys approve. Then bid the breath of harmony inspire The Doric flute, and wake the Phrygian lyre; As late, when the Neptunian youth, who spurn'd A mortal birth, beheld his navy burn'd, And fled affrighted through his father's waves With his perfidious host; his host of slaves, Freed from those chains with which his rage design'd Impious! the free-born sons of Rome to bind.

The Roman troops (Oh! be the tale denied By future times) enslav'd to woman's pride, And to a wither'd eunuch's will severe Basely subdu'd, the toils of war could bear. Amidst the Roman eagles Sol survey'd, O shame! th' Egyptian canopy display'd; When twice a thousand Gauls aloud proclaim, Indignant at the sight, great Cæsar's name, And a brave fleet, by just resentment led, Turn'd their broad prows, and to our havens fled, Come, god of triumphs, bring the golden car, The untam'd heifers, and the spoils of war; For he, whose virtue rais'd his awful tomb O'er ruin'd Carthage, ne'er return'd to Rome So great and glorious, nor could Libya's field To thee, O Triumph, such a leader yield.

Pursu'd by land and sea, the vanquish'd foe Hath chang'd his purple for the garb of woe: With winds, no more his own; with shatter'd fleet, He seeks the far-fam'd hundred towns of Creta

ODE X.

TO MEVIUS.

WHEN filthy Mævius hoists the spreading sail, Each luckless omen shall prevail.

Ye southern winds, invert the foamy tides,

And bang his labouring vessel's sides ;
Let Eurus rouse the main with blackening roar,
Crack every cable, every oar;

Let the north wind rise dreadful o'er the floods,
As when it breaks the mountain-woods,
Nor let one friendly star shine o'er the night,
When sets Orion's gloomy light.

Mayst thou no kinder winds, O Mævius, meet,
Than the victorious Grecian fleet,

When Pallas turn'd her rage from rujn'd Troy,
The impious Ajax to destroy.

With streams of sweat the toiling sailor glows,
Thy face a muddy paleness shows;
Nor shall thy vile, unmanly wailings move
The pity of avenging Jove.

While watery winds the bellowing ocean shake,
I see thy luckless vessel break:

But if thy carcase reach the winding shore,
And birds the pamper'd prey devour,

A lamb and lustful goat shall thank the storm,
And I the sacrifice perform.

ODE XI.

TO PETTIUS.

SINCE cruel love, O Pettius, pierc'd my heart, How have I lost my once-lov'd lyric art! Thrice have the woods their leafy honour mourn'd, Since for Inachia's beauties Horace burn'd. How was I then (for I confess my shame) Of every idle tale the laughing theme? Oh! that I ne'er had known the jovial feast, Where the deep sigh, that rends the labouring

breast,

Where languor, and a gentle silence shows,
To every curious eye, the lover's woes.

Pettius, how often o'er the flowing bowl,
When the gay liquor warm'd my opening soul,
When Bacchus, jovial god, no more restrain'd
The modest secret, how have I complain'd,
That wealthy blockheads, in a female's eyes,
From a poor poet's genius bear the prize!
But if a generous rage my breast should warm,
I swore-no vain amusements e'er shall charm
My aching wounds. Ye vagrant winds, receive
The sighs, that sooth the pains they should relieve;
Here shall my shame of being conquer'd end,
Nor with such rivals will I more contend.

When thus, with solemn air, I vaunting said, Inspir'd by thy advice I homeward sped : But ah! my feet in wonted wanderings stray, And to no friendly doors my steps betray;

There I forget my vows, forget my pride, And at her threshold lay my tortur'd side.

ODE XIII.

TO A FRIEND.

SEE what horrid tempests rise,
And contract the clouded skies;
Snows and showers fill the air,
And bring down the atmosphere.
Hark! what tempests sweep the floods!
How they shake the rattling woods!
'Let us, while it's in our power,
Let us seize the fleeting hour;
While our cheeks are fresh and gay,
Let us drive old age away;
Let us smooth its gather'd brows,
Youth its hour of mirth allows.

Bring us down the mellow'd wine,
Rich with years, that equal mine;
Prithee, talk no more of sorrow,
To the gods belongs to morrow,
And, perhaps, with gracious power
They may change the gloomy hour.
Let the richest essence shed
Eastern odours on your head,
While the soft Cyllenian lyre
Shall your labouring breast inspire.
To his pupil, brave and young,
Thus the noble Centaur sung:
"Matchless mortal! though 'tis thine,
Proud to boast! a birth divine,
Yet the banks, with cooling waves
Which the smooth Scamander laves;
And where Simoïs with pride
Rougher rolls his rapid tide,
Destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall the sea-born hero wait.
There the Sisters, fated boy,
Shall thy thread of life destroy,
Nor shall azure Thetis more
Waft thee to thy natal shore;
Then let joy and mirth be thine,
Mirthful songs, and joyous wine,
And with converse blithe and gay
Drive all gloomy cares away."

ODE XV.

TO NEERA.

CLEAR was the night, the face of Heaven serene,
Bright shone the Moon amidst her starry train,
When round my neck as curls the tendril-vine-
(Loose are its curlings, if compar'd to thine);
'Twas then, insulting every heavenly power,
That, as I dictated, yon boldly swore:
While the gaunt wolf pursues the trembling sheep;
While fierce Orion harrows up the deep;
While Phoebus' locks float wanton in the wind,
Thus shall Neæra prove, thas ever kind.

But, if with aught of mawas Horace born,
Severely shalt thou feel his honest scorn;
Nor will he tamely bear the bold delight,
With which his rival riots out the night,
But in his anger seek some kinder dame,
Warm with the raptures of a mutual flame;
Nor shall thy rage, thy grief, or angry charms
Recall the lover to thy faithless arms.

And thou, whoe'er thou art, who joy to shine,
Proud as thou art, in spoils which once were mine,
Though wide thy land extends, and large thy fold,
Though rivers roll for thee their purest gold,
Though Nature's wisdom in her works were thine,
And beauties of the human face divine,
Yet soon thy pride her wandering love shall mourn,
While I shall laugh, exulting in my turn.

ODE XVI.

TO THE ROMANS.

IN endless civil war th' imperial state By her own strength precipitates her fate. What neighbouring nations, fiercely leagu'd in

arms,

What Porsena, with insolent alarms

Threatening her tyrant monarch to restore;
What Spartacus, and Capua's rival power;
What Gaul, tumultuous and devoid of truth,
And fierce Germania, with her blue-eyed youth;
What Hannibal, on whose accursed head
Our sires their deepest imprecations shed,
In vain attempted to her awful state,
Shall we, a blood-devoted race complete?
Again shall savage beasts these hills possess?
And fell barbarians, wanton with success,
Scatter our city's flaming ruins wide,

Or through her streets in vengeful triumph ride,
And her great founder's hallow'd ashes spurn,
That sleep uninjur'd in their sacred urn?

But some, perhaps, to shun the rising shame (Which Heaven approve) would try some happier scheme.

As the Phocæans oft for freedom bled,
At length, with imprecated curses, fled,
And left to boars and wolves the sacred fane,
With all their household gods, ador'd in vain ;
So let us fly, as far as earth extends,
Or where the vagrant wind our voyage bends.
Shall this, or shall some better scheme prevail?
Why do we stop to hoist the willing sail?
But let us swear, when floating rocks shall gain,
Rais'd from the deep, the surface of the main ;
When lowly Po the mountain summit laves,
And Apennine shall plunge beneath the waves;
When Nature's monsters meet in strange delight,
And the fell tigress shall with stags unite;
When the fierce kite shall woo the willing dove,
And win the wanton with adulterous love;
When herds on brindled lions fearless gaze,
And the smooth goat exults in briny seas:
Then, and then only, to the tempting gale
To spread repentant the returning sail.

Yet to cut off our hopes, those hopes that charm
Our fondness home, let us with curses arm
These high resolves. Thus let the brave and wise,
Whose souls above th' indocile vulgar rise;
Then let the crowd, who dare not hope success,
Inglorious, these ill-omen'd seats possess.

But ye, whom virt warms, indulge no more These female plaints, but quit this fated shore; For earth-surrounding sea our flight awaits, Offering its blissful isles, and happy scats, Where annual Ceres crowns th' uncultur'd field, And vines unprun'd their blushing clusters yield; Where olives, faithful to their season, grow, And figs with Nature's deepest purple glow;

From hollow oaks where honied streams distil,
And bourds with noisy foot the pebbled rill;
Where goats untaught forsake the flowery vale,
And bring their swelling udders to the pail;
Nor evening-bears the sheep-fold growl around,
Nor mining vipers heave the tainted ground;
Nor watry Eurus deluges the plain,
Nor heats excessive burn the springing grain.

Not Argo thither turn'd her armed head;
Medea there no magic poison spread;
No merchants thither plough the pathless main,
For guilty commerce, and a thirst of gain;
Nor wise Ulysses, and his wandering bands,
Vicious, though brave, e'er knew these happy lands.
O'er the glad flocks no foul contagion spreads,
Nor summer Sun his burning influence sheds.

Pure and unmixt the world's first ages roll'd: But soon as brass had stain'd the flowing gold, To iron harden'd by succeeding crimes, Jove for the just preserv'd these happy climes, To which the gods this pious race invite, And bid me, raptur'd bard, direct their flight.

ODE XVII.

TO CANIDIA.

CANIDIA, to thy matchless art,
Vanquish'd I yield a suppliant heart;
But oh! by Hell's extended plains,
Where Pluto's gloomy consort reigns;
By bright Diana's vengeful rage,
Which prayers nor hecatombs assuage;
And by the books, of power to call
The charmed stars, and bid them fall,
No more pronounce the sacred scroll,
But back the magic circle roll.

Even stern Achilles could forgive
The Mysian king, and bid him live,
Though proud he rang'd the ranks of fight,
And hurl'd the spear with daring might.
Thus, when the murderous Hector lay
Condemn'd to dogs, and birds of prey,
Yet when his royal father kneel'd,
The fierce Achilles knew to yield;
And Troy's unhappy matrons paid
Their sorrows to their Hector's shade.

Ulysses' friends, in labours tried, So Circe will'd, threw off their hide, Assum'd the human form divine, And dropp'd the voice and sense of swine. O thou, whom tars and merchants love, Too deep thy vengeful rage I prove, Reduc'd, alas! to skin and bone, My vigour fled, my colour gone. Thy fragrant odours on my head More than the snows of age have shed. Days press on nights, and nights on days, Yet never bring an hour of ease, While, gasping in the pangs of death, I stretch my lungs in vain for breath.

Thy charms have power ('tis now confest) To split the head, and tear the breast. What would you more, all-charming dame? O seas, and earth! this scorching flame! Not such the fire Alcides bore, When the black-venom'd shirt he wore; Nor such the flames, that to the skies From Etna's burning entrails rise:

And yet, thou shop of poisons dire,
You glow with unrelenting fire,
Till, by the rapid heat calcin'd,
Vagrant I drive before the wind.

How long? What ransom shall I pay?
Speak-I the stern command obey.
To expiate the guilty deed,

Say, shall a hundred bullocks bleed?
Or shall I to the lying string
Thy fame and spotless virtue sing?
Teach thee, a golden star, to rise,
And deathless walk the spangled skies?
When Helen's virtue was defam'd,
Her brothers, though with rage inflam'd,
Yet to the bard his eyes restor❜d,
When suppliant he their grace implor'd.
Oh! calm this madness of my brain,
For you can heal this raging pain.
You never knew the birth of shame,
Nor by thy hand, all-skilful dame,
The poor man's ashes are upturn'd,
Though they be thrice three days inurn'd.
Thy bosom's bounteous and humane,
Thy hand from blood and murder clean;
And with a blooming race of boys
Lucina crowns thy mother-joys.

CANIDIA'S ANSWER.

,་,

I'LL hear no more. Thy prayers are vain.
Not rocks, amid the wint'ry majn,
Less heed the shipwreck'd sailor's cries,
When Neptune bids the tempest rise.
Shall you Cotyttia's feast deride,
Yet safely triumph in thy pride?
Or, impious, to the glare of day
The sacred joys of love betray?
Or fill the city with my nanie,
And pontiff-like our rites defame?
Did I with wealth in vain enrich
Of potent spells each charming witch,
Or mix the speedy drugs in vain ?
No-through a lingering length of pain
Reluctant shalt thou drag thy days,
While every hour new pangs shall raise.
Gazing on the delusive feast,
Which charms his eye, yet flies his taste,
Perfidious Tantalus implores,

For rest, for rest, the vengeful powers;
Prometheus, while the vulture preys
Upon his liver, longs for ease;
And Sisyphus with many a groan,
Uprolls, with ceaseless toil, his stone,
To fix it on the topmost hill—
In vain-for Jove's all-ruling will
Forbids. When thus in black despair
Down from some castle, high in air,
You seek a headlong fate below,
Or try the dagger's pointed blow,
Or if the left-ear'd knot you tie,
Yet death your vain attempts shall fly;
Then on your shoulders will I ride,
And earth shall shake beneath my pride.
Could I with life an image warm,
(Impertinent, you saw the charm)
Or tear down Luna from her skies,
Or bid the dead, though burn'd, arise,
Or mix the draught inspiring love,

And shall my art on thee successless prove?

THE SECULAR POEM.

THE POET TO THE PEOPLE.

STAND off, ye vulgar, nor profane,

With bold, unhallow'd sounds, this festal scene: In hymns inspir'd by truth divine,

I, priest of the melodious Nine,

To youths and virgins sing the mystic strain.

TO THE CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

PHOEBUS taught me how to sing,

How to tune the vocal string;
Phoebus made me known to Fame,
Honour'd with a poet's name.

Noble youths, and virgins fair,
Chaste Diana's guardian care,
(Goddess, whose unerring dart
Stops the lynx, or flying hart)
Mark the Lesbian measures well,
Where they fall, and where they swell;
And in varied cadence sing,
As I strike the changing string.
To the god, who gilds the skies,
Let the solemn numbers rise;
Solemn sing the queen of night,
And her crescent's bending light,
Which adown the fruitful year
Rolls the months in prone career.
Soon, upon her bridal day,
Thus the joyful maid shall say:
"When the great revolving year
Bade the festal morn appear,
High the vocal hymn 1 rais'd,
And the listening gods were pleas'd:
All the vocal hymn divine,
Horace, tuncful bard, was thine."

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

TITYOS, with impious lust inspir'd,
By chaste Latona's beauties fir'd,

Thy wrath, O Phœbus, tried;
And Niobe, of tongue profane,
Deplor'd her numerous offspring slain,

Sad victims of their mother's pride. Achilles too, the son of Fame, Though sprung from Thetis, sea-born dame, And first of men in fight, Though warring with tremendous spear He shook the Trojan towers with fear, Yet bow'd to thy superior might; The cypress, when by storms impell'd, Or pine, by biting axes fell'd,

Low bends the towering head: So falling on th' ensanguin'd plain, By your unerring arrow slain,

His mighty bulk the hero spread.
He had not Priam's heedless court,
Dissolv'd in wine, and festal sport,

With midnight art surpris'd;
But bravely bold, of open force,
Had proudly scorn'd Minerva's horse,
And all its holy cheat despis'd;

Then arm'd, alas! with horrours dire,
Wide-wasting with resistless ire,

Into the flames had thrown
Infants, upon whose faltering tongue
Their words in formless accents hung,

Infants to light and life unknown;

But charm'd by beauty's queen and thee, The sire of gods, with just decree

Assenting, shook the skies; That Troy should change th' imperial seat, And, guided by a better fate,

Glorious in distant realms should rise, Oh! may the god, who could inspire With living sounds the Grecian lyre; In Xanthus' Jucid stream Who joys to bathe his flowing hair, Now make the Latian Muse his care,

And powerful guard her rising fame!

SECOND CONCERT.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Ye virgins, sing Diana's praise.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Ye boys, let youthful Phœbus crown your lays.

THE TWO CHOIRS.

Together let us raise the voice

To her, belov'd by Jove supreme;
Let fair Latona be the theme,

Our tuneful theme, his beauteous choice.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Ye virgins, sing Diana's fame,

Who bathes delighted in the limpid stream; Dark Erymanthus' awful groves,

The woods that Algidus o'erspread, Or wave on Cragus' verdant head, Joyous th' immortal huntress loves.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Ye boys, with equal honour sing Fair Tempe cloth'd with ever-blooming spring; Then hail the Delian birth divine,

Whose shoulders, beaming heavenly fire, Grac'd with his brother's warbling lyre, And with the golden quiver shine.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

Mov'd by the solemn voice of prayer,

They both shall make imperial Rome their care,
And gracious turn the direful woes

Of famine and of weeping war
From Rome, from sacred Cæsar far,
And pour them on our British foes.

THIRD CONCERT.

TO APOLLO AND DIANA.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

YE radiant glories of the skies,
Ever-beaming god of light,
Sweetly-shining queen of night,

Beneath whose wrath the wood-born savage dies;

! The Twenty-first Ode of the First Book.

Ye powers, to whom with ceaseless praise A grateful world its homage pays, Let our prayer, our prayer be heard, Now in this solemn hour preferr'd, When by the Sibyl's dread command, Of spotless maids a chosen train, Of spotless youths a chosen band, To all our guardian gods uplift the hallow'd strain.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Fair Sun, who with unchanging beam
Rising another and the same,

Dost from thy beamy car unfold
The glorious day,

Or hide it in thy setting ray,

Of light and life immortal source,
Mayst thou, in all thy radiant course,

Nothing more great than seven-hill'd Rome behold!

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Goddess of the natal hour,

Or, if other name more dear,
Propitious power,

Can charm your ear,

Our pregnant matrons gracious hear: With lenient hand their pangs compose,

Heal their agonizing throes;

Give the springing birth to light,

And with every genial grace,
Prolific of an endless race,

[rite:

Oh! crown our marriage-lats, and bless the nuptial

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS,
That when the circling years complete
Again this awful season bring,

Thrice with the day's revolving light,
Thrice beneath the shades of night,
In countless bands our youthful choirs may sing
These festal hymns, these pious games repeat.
Ye Fates, from whom unerring flows

The word of truth; whose firm decree
Its stated bounds and order knows,

Wide spreading through eternity,
With guardian care around us wait,
And with successive glories crown the state,
Let earth her various fruitage yield,
Her living verdure spread,
And form, amid the waving field,

A sheafy crown for Ceres' head;
Fall genial showers, and o'er our fleecy care
May Jove indulgent breathe his purest air!

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Phoebus, whose kindly beams impart
Health and gladness to the heart,

While in its quiver lies the pestilential dart,
Thy youthful suppliants hear:

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Queen of the stars, who rul'st the night
In horned majesty of light,

Bend to thy virgins a propitious ear.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS,

If, ye gods, the Roman state
Was form'd by your immortal power,
Or if, to change th' imperial seat,

And other deities adore,

Beneath your guidance the Dardanian host Pour'd forth their legions ou the Tuscan coast ;