Ergo Quinctilium perpetuus sopor
Urguet! cui Pudor, et Justitiæ soror
Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas

Quando ullum invenient parem?

Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit ;

Nulli flebilior quam tibi, Virgili.

Tu frustra pius, heu! non ita creditum

Poscis Quinctilium deos.

Quod si Threïcio blandius Orpheo

Auditam moderere arboribus fidem;

Non vanæ redeat sanguis imagini,
Quam virga semel horrida,

Non lenis precibus fata recludere,
Nigro compulerit Mercurius gregi.
Durum! sed levius fit patientia,

Quicquid corrigere est nefas.

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And does Quinctilius sleep in endless death?

Oh, where, for modest worth and truthful mind,
And, twin with Justice, uncorrupted Faith,

Shall we his equal find?

BL

For him shall many a good man's tears be giv'n :
And none shall bitt'rer weep, than, Virgil, thou; 10
Who for thy lov'd Quinctilius weariest Heav'n

With unavailing vow.

No, not thy strains, though sweet as those of yore
With which the list'ning forests Orpheus led,
To that cold corpse the life-blood can restore,
Which, with his wand of dread,

Mercurius, deaf to sounds of human grief, Hath summon'd to the grisly band below : 'Tis hard; yet Patience may afford relief

Where none can ward the blow!

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AN

Od. i. 31.

QUID dedicatum poscit Apollinem
Vates? quid orat, de patera novum
Fundens liquorem? Non opimas

Sardiniæ segetes feracis;

Non æstuosæ grata Calabria

Armenta; non aurum, aut ebur Indicum;

Non rura, quæ Liris quieta

Mordet aqua, taciturnus amnis.

Premant Calena falce, quibus dedit

Fortuna, vitem; dives et aureis

Mercator exsiccet culullis

Vina Syra reparata merce,

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Od. i. 31.

WITH what petition at the shrine
Of Phoebus shall the Bard appear?
And, as he pours the sacred wine,
What pray'r shall reach his Patron's ear?
He asks not, he, the golden grain

That waves o'er rich Sardinia's plain,

Nor flocks, nor herds, that wander o'er

Calabria's sultry mountains steep:

Nor wealthy India's golden store,

Nor ivory, nor pastures deep,

Whose mould'ring soil, from day to day,
Smooth, silent Liris wears away.

Let those who Fortune's favours gain,
Prune the rank growth of Cales' vines;

Let the rich merchant freely drain

From golden goblets costly wines,
The prizes of his prosp'rous trade,
By Syrian merchandize repaid.

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Dîs carus ipsis; quippe ter et quater

Anno revisens æquor Atlanticum