Or honour with a richer meed Than all the sculptor's art could trace, The pugilist, or victor steed, Triumphant in th' Elean race; Or with the widow'd bride condole, Riding the gale on pinions proud, The vast expanse of storm and cloud; And banks of mossy verdure, I, Toiling 'mid beds of fragrant thyme, My little labours ceaseless ply, And build with pain my humble rhyme. 25 30 Concines majore Poëta plectro Per Sacrum clivum, merita decorus Quo nihil majus meliusve terris Fata donavere bonique divi, Nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum Tempora priscum. Concines lætosque dies, et urbis Publicum ludum, super impetrato Fortis Augusti reditu, forumque Tum meæ (si quid loquar audiendum) Cæsare felix. 35 40 45 Thou shalt the joyful days record, For Cæsar to our pray'rs restor❜d, The courts from anxious suitors freed. Then shall be heard my joyous lay (Should aught of mine such honour earn), Oh, glorious sun! oh, happy day! That sees Augustus' safe return! 45 Tuque dum procedis, Io Triumphe! Civitas omnis; dabimusque divis Te decem tauri totidemque vaccæ, Me tener solvet vitulus, relicta Matre, qui largis juvenescit herbis Fronte curvatos imitatus ignes Tertium Lunæ referentis ortum, Qua notam duxit, niveus videri, Cætera fulvus. 60 And, as you pass, from ev'ry tongue For thee ten bulls, as many cows; Who revels now in grassy mead: Dun-colour'd, save of snowy white, |