Oak and brass triple encircled his bosom,

Who first to fierce ocean consigned a frail raft, Fearing not Africus, when, in wild battle,

Headlong he charges the blasts of the North;

Fearing no gloom in the face of the Hyads;
Fearing no rage of mad Notus, than whom,
Never a despot more absolute wieldeth

Hadria, to rouse her or lull at his will.

What the approach by which Death could have daunted
Him who with eyelids unmoistened beheld

Monster forms gliding and mountain waves swelling,
And the grim Thunder-Crags dismally famed?

Vainly by wastes of dissociable ocean

Providence severed the lands from the lands If the plains not to be touched by our footfall Be, yet, profanely o'er-leapt by our rafts.

Rushes man's race through the evils forbidden,
Lawlessly bold to brave all things and bear:
Lawlessly bold did the son of the Titan

Bring to the nations fire won through a fraud.

Fire stolen thus from the Dome Empyrean,
Meagre Decay swooped at once on the earth,
Leagued with a new-levied army of fevers-
Death, until then the slow-comer, far-off,

Hurried his stride, and stood facing his victim;
Dædalus, upward, the void realms of air
Sounded on wings that to man are not given;
Down, burst the labor Herculean through hell.

Nought is too high for the daring of mortals;
Heaven's very self in our folly we storm.
Never is Jove, through our guilty aspiring,
Suffered to lay down the bolt we provoke.

-SIR E. BULWER LYTTON.

THE POET'S CHOICE.

(Book II., Ode XII.-To Mæcenas).

Dire Hannibal, the Roman's dread,
Numantian wars, which raged so long,
And seas with Punic slaughter red,
Suit not the softer lyric song;

Nor savage centaurs, mad with wine;
Nor Earth's enormous rebel brood,
Who shook with fear the Powers divine,
Till by Alcides' arms subdued.

Better, Mæcenas, thou in prose

Shalt Cæsar's glorious battles tell; With what bold heat the victor glows, What captive kings his triumphs swell.

Thy mistress all my Muse employs;
Licinia's voice, her sprightly turns,
The fire that sparkles in her eyes,
And in her faithful bosom burns.

When she adorns Diana's day,

And all the beauteous choirs advance, With sweetest airs, divinely gay,

She shines, distiguish'd in the dance!

Not all Arabia's spicy fields

Can with Licinia's breath compare; Nor India's self a treasure yields,

To purchase one bright flowing hair:

When she with bending neck complies
To meet the lover's eager kiss,
With gentle cruelty denies,

Or snatches first the fragrant bliss.

-Translated by R. BERNAL.

TO THE ROMANS.

(Book III., Ode VI.).

Those ills your ancestors have done,
Romans, are now become your own;
And they will cost you dear,
Unless you soon repair

The falling temples which the gods provoke,
And statues sullied yet with sacrilegious smoke
Propitious Heaven, that raised your fathers high,
For humble, grateful piety,

(As it rewarded their respect)

Hath sharply punish'd your neglect.
All empires on the gods depend,

Begun by their command, at their command they end.
Let Crassus' ghost and Labienus tell

How twice by Jove's revenge our legions fell,
And with insulting pride,

Shining in Roman spoils, the Parthian victors ride.
The Scythian and Egyptian scum

Had almost ruin'd Rome,
While our seditions took their part,

Fill'd each Egyptian sail, and wing'd each Scythian dart.
First, these flagitious times.

(Pregnant with unknown crimes)

Conspire to violate the nuptial bed,
From which polluted head

Infectious streams of crowding sins began,

And through the spurious breed and guilty nation ran. Behold a fair and melting maid

Bound 'prentice to a common trade;

Ionian artists at a mighty price

Instruct her in the mysteries of vice,

What nets to spread, where subtle baits to lay,

And with an early hand they form the temper'd clay.
'Tis not the spawn of such as these

That dy'd with Punic blood the conquer'd seas,
And quash'd the stern Æacides;

Made the proud Asian monarch feel

How weak his gold was 'gainst Europe's steel;

Forc'd e'en dire Hannibal to yield,

And won the long-disputed world at Zama's fatal field.
But soldiers of a rustic mould,

Rough, hardy, season'd, manly, bold;
Either they dug the stubborn ground,

Or through hewn woods their weighty strokes did sound;
And after the declining sun

Had chang'd the shadows, and their task was done,
Home with their weary team they took their way,
And drown'd in friendly bowls the labor of the day.
Time sensibly all things impairs ;

Our fathers have been worse than theirs;
And we than ours; next age will see

A race more profligate than we

(With all the pains we take) have skill enough to be. -Translated by the EARL OF Roscommon.

THE RECONCILIATION.

(Book III., Ode IX.).

Horace. Whilst I was fond, and you were kind,
Nor any dearer youth, reclined

On your soft bosom, sought to rest,
Phraates was not half so bless'd.

Lydia. Whilst you adored no other face,
Nor loved me in the second place,
My happy celebrated fame

Outshone e'en Ilia's envied flame.

Horace. Me Chloe now possesses whole,
Her voice and lyre command my soul;
Nor would I death itself decline,
Could her life ransom'd be with mine.

Lydia. For me the lovely Calais burns,

And warmth for warmth my heart returns.
Twice would I life with joy resign,

Could his be ransom'd once with mine.

Horace. What if sweet love, whose bands we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke;

Should banish'd Chloe cease to reign,
And Lydia her lost power regain?

Lydia. Though Hesper be less fair than he,

Thou wilder than the raging sea,

Lighter than down; yet gladly I

With thee would live, with thee would die.
-Translated by F. ATTERBURY.

HORACE'S STORY OF HIS EDUCATION.
(From Satire VI.-To Mæcenas).

Nor yet to chance my happiness I owe;
Friendship like yours it had not to bestow.
First, my best Virgil, then my Varius, told
Among my friends what character I hold;
When introduced, in few and faltering words
(Such as an infant modesty affords)

I did not tell you my descent was great,
Or that I wander'd round my country seat
On a proud steed in richer pastures bred;
But what I really was, I frankly said.

Short was your answer, in your usual strain;

I take my leave, nor wait on you again,
Till, nine months past, engaged and bid to hold
A place among your nearer friends enroll'd.
An honor this, methinks, of nobler kind,
That innocent of heart and pure of mind,
Though with no titled birth, I gain'd his love,
Whose judgment can discern, whose choice approve.
If some few venial faults deform my soul,
(Like a fair face when spotted with a mole),
If none with avarice justly brand my fame
With sordidness, or deeds too vile to name:
If pure and innocent: if dear (forgive
These little praises) to my friends I live,

My father was the cause, who, though maintain'd
By a lean farm but poorly, yet disdain'd
The country schoolmaster, to whose low care
The mighty captain sent his high-born heir,
With satchel, copy-book, and pelf to pay
The wretched teacher on th' appointed day.