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I MITATION

OF

FIFTEENTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

When Troy's base Shepherd lur'd the Spartan bride,
And his fleet galley stemm’d th’Egean tide ;
With voice prophetic, Nereus calm’d the wave,
And sung a requiem, o'er proud Ilion's wave.

“ View the sad picture of your Country's woe,
“See all your palaces, and towers laid low;
“ Hear the loud shriek of feminine despair,
“ Intreat some victor, her poor

hut to spare.

1

1

IMITATION, ETC.

219

“ View the stern Chiefs prepare the storm to lead, “ Point the keen lance, and train the fiery steed;

“Urge the swift car across th' embattl'd plain,
“ While hostile clarions peal their death-like strain.

“ Her sacred Egis see Minerva rear,

" See dauntless Teucer in the van appear ;

“ See great Atrides with his crested helm,
“And Diomede your feeble ranks o’erwhelm.

“ View sage Laertes skill'd in ev'ry art,

" And aged Nestor all their aid impart;

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Ajax the bold—displays his ' seven-fold shield, (Ajax—no dangers 'ere induce to yield.)

Again fair Venus vainly you implore, “ With vows once murmur'd on the Grecian shore ; “ In vain perfum’d--the flowing locks you braid, “Or your soft harp invokes the yielding maid.

hind in safety seems to rove, *(The joyful tenant of some flow’ry grove ;) “Let the wolf's howl, her timid ears assail, “ Swift as the wind, she flies before the gale.

“ As the

poor

“On Ida's mount, the Phrygian dames will mourn,

“ And view in bondage, their lov'd offspring torn;

“ Priam's proud temples must expire in flame, “And long in ruin, weep Pelides awful name.”

IMITATION

OF

ELEVENTH ODE OF SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

What restless Gaul will now design,

What realm her legions gain;

The flow'ry borders of the Rhine,

Or Danube's distant plain?

What injur'd Monarch is decreed,

Her tyrant sway to own ;

What guiltless nation is to bleed,

Or grace her Despot's throne ?

Forbear each rumour to inquire,

Dispel ignoble fear;
Vain the loud burst of gen’rous ire,

And vain the mournful tear.

Let Pleasure shed her genial ray,

While Youth's warm tide shall glow; Waste not in thought an anxious day,

Nor seek impending woe.

Each wine display of vintage rare,

That makes the coward bold;

Brightens the face of dark despair,

With hope renews the old.

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