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His mother calls with many a prayer and vow
And many an omen, from the curved sea-strand
Withdrawing not her gaze-even so now,
Smitten with loyal longing, fatherland
Bids Caesar here again his presence show.

For the ox safely rambles through the mead:
Ceres and bountiful Prosperity
Are nourishing the land: with winged speed
Mariners skim the pirate-cleansed sea:
Fidelity holds censure's voice in dread.

Adultery ceases the pure home to stain :
Custom and law's enactment have subdued
That foul offence: child-bearing women gain
Applause for babes of right similitude:
Crime and its punishment are co-mates twain.

While Caesar is preserved to us, who fears
The Parthian? or who the shaggy swarm
Of sons that teeming Germany uprears?
Whom does the ice-bound Scythian alarm?
Who heeds that savage Spain in arms appears?

Amid his own familiar hills, each one
In wedlock with the widowed trees unites
The vine ; and joying o'er the day's work done,
Returns thence to his wine, and thee invites,
His second course, as deity, to crown.

Votis, ominibusque, et precibus vocat,
Curvo nec faciem litore demovet :
Sic desideriis icta fidelibus

Quaerit patria Caesarem.

Tutus bos etenim rura perambulat :
Nutrit rura Ceres, almaque Faustitas:
Pacatum volitant per mare navitae :

Culpari metuit Fides:

Nullis polluitur casta domus stupris:
Mos et lex maculosum edomuit nefas:
Laudantur simili prole puerperae:

Culpam poena premit comes.

Quis Parthum paveat? quis gelidum Scythen ?
Quis, Germania quos horrida parturit
Fetus, incolumi Caesare? quis ferae

Bellum curet Hiberiae ?

Condit quisque diem collibus in suis,
Et vitem viduas ducit ad arbores:
Hinc ad vina redit laetus, et alteris

Te mensis adhibet deum;

Thee, with abundance of entreaties, he
Pursues, and with libation of pure wine :
And, 'mid his Lares, thy divinity
Places, as mighty Hercules, in line
With Castor, ranks in Grecian memory.

Ah wouldest thou, good chief, on Italy
A long-enduring festal time bestow!
Dry, with the day before us, so say we
When early morning dawns: well-moistened, so
Say, when the sun is underneath the sea.

This reads like a sort of preface to the Secular Ode. Horace begins

with thanksgiving to Apollo for having slain Achilles and preserved Aeneas, the originator of the Roman state, and then turns to the chorus and gives them some directions. I hope no critic will be very hard upon me for having, in my desperate need of a dissyllable, devised Teucrum as another name for Troy.

God, who wert found by Niobean offspring
Scourge of presumptuous tongues, and by the lustful
Tityus, and him, of Troy almost subduer,

Phthian Achilles :
Soldier, 'mid others best, to thee unequal,
Albeit, born of the sea-goddess Thetis;
He, with redoubted spear assaulting, shivered

Dardan defences.
He as pine-tree stricken by biting hatchet
Or as proud cypress by the east wind levelled,

Te multa prece, te prosequitur mero Defuso pateris; et Laribus tuum Miscet numen, uti Graecia Castoris

Et magni memor Herculis.

Longas o utinam, dux bone, ferias Praestes Hesperiae! dicimus integro Sicci mane die, dicimus uvidi,

Cum Sol Oceano subest.

VI. AD APOLLINEM.

Dive, quem proles Niobea magnae Vindicem linguae, Tityosque' raptor Sensit, et Trojae prope victor altae

Phthius Achilles, Ceteris major, tibi miles impar : Filius quamvis Thetidis marinae Dardanas turres quateret tremenda

Cuspide pugnax. Ille, mordaci velut icta ferro Pinus, aut impulsa cupressus Euro,

Fell at full length and in the dust of Teucrum

Laid his proud neck low.
Never would he, pent in the horse pretending
Honour to Pallas, have surprised the Trojans'
Revel ill-timed, and palace-hall of Priam,

Joyous with dancers.
Openly cruel (ah! ah me! the horror),
Babes to Achivan flames had he delivered
To be consumed, yea even babes in mothers'

Bowels still hidden
Save that by prayers of thine and gentle Venus
Moved was the father of the gods to suffer
That with more kindly auspices Aeneas

Should a new town build.
Lyrist Apollo, ever young Agyieus,
Tuneful Thalia's teacher, who in Xanthus'
River thine hair lav'st, of the Latin muse's

Honour be guardian.
Phoebus to me gave inspiration, Phoebus,
Talent poetic and the name of poet.
Highest-born maidens, youths, ye too, by noble

Fathers begotten, Wards of the Delian goddess, who the fleeing Lynxes and nimble stags with bow arresteth, Mark ye my Lesbic measure and keep time with

That which my thumb beats; Duly Latona's son alternate hymning, Duly the waning Night-Illumer's cresset, Hers who our fruit-trees favours, and revolving

Months hurries headlong.

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