Odes by Horace

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Of battles fought I fain had told,

And conquer'd towns, when Phoebus smote

His harp-string: "Sooth, 'twere over-bold

To tempt wide seas in that frail boat."

Thy age, great Caesar, has restored

To squalid fields the plenteous grain,

Given back to Rome's almighty Lord

Our standards, torn from Parthian fane,

Has closed Quirinian Janus' gate,

Wild passion's erring walk controll'd,

Heal'd the foul plague-spot of the state,

And brought again the life of old,

Life, by whose healthful power increased

The glorious name of Latium spread

To where the sun illumes the east

From where he seeks his western bed.

While Caesar rules, no civil strife

Shall break our rest, nor violence rude,

Nor rage, that whets the slaughtering knife

And plunges wretched towns in feud.

The sons of Danube shall not scorn

The Julian edicts; no, nor they

By Tanais' distant river born,

Nor Persia, Scythia, or Cathay.

And we on feast and working-tide,

While Bacchus' bounties freely flow,

Our wives and children at our side,

First paying Heaven the prayers we owe,

Shall sing of chiefs whose deeds are done,

As wont our sires, to flute or shell,

And Troy, Anchises, and the son

Of Venus on our tongues shall dwell.

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