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Full measure Jove has of the snow and fierce hail

Now o'er the plains hurled, and, with pow'rful right


Red with the lightning, overthrowing temples,

Frighted the city :

Frighted the nations, lest a dreadful age come
Like that of Pyrrha, prodigies bewailing,

When his entire flock up the lofty mountains

Proteus was driving;

When to the elm-tops finny tribes were clinging, Which to wood-pigeons once familiar seats were; And the deer, trembling, each were fain to swim o'er

Wide-spreading waters.

E’en yellow Tiber, with its waves back-drifted,
Have we seen madly, from the Tuscan sea-shore,
Rush to destroy the monuments of Numa,

Temples of Vesta;

Till it grew boastful of its timely vengeance
(Jove not permitting) for complaining Ilia,
And by its left bank now meand'ring glideth,

Amorous river !

Yet shall our offspring, thinned by crimes paternal,
Hear of their kinsmen whetting the bright iron,
By which the Persian rather should have perished,-

Hear of their battles!

Which of the Guardians of a tott'ring empire

Whom shall its sons invoke to their assistance ?

By what

Vesta shall her virgins weary,

Of their hymns heedless ?

Whom will Jove grant the task of expiation ?
Oh! do thou come then, suppliant we pray thee,
With thy bright shoulders in a cloud enveloped,


Augur Apollo !

Or, if thou wishest, Erycina joyous,
Who hast aye hov’ring Mirth and Love around thee!
Or thou, our Founder, if thy slighted nation

E'er thou regardest !

Ah! so long glutted with thy fearful pastime!
Loving the war-cry and the shining helmet,

And the fierce glances which the Marcian casts on

Foeman all-bleeding!

Or if, with changed form, here upon this earth, thou, O winged offspring of the gentle Maia!

Youth's form assumest, suff'ring us to call thee

Cæsar's avenger:

Heav'n-ward return late; and, oh! long and happy
May'st thou be present with the Roman people!
Nor, by our vices causing thee disquiet,

Let the swift ether

Bear thee away back! Choose thou here the triumph:
Here to be styled our Father and our Leader;
Nor that the Medes should e'er advance unpunished,

Suffer thou, Cæsar!



So may Cypria’s goddess-queen, So may

Helen's twin stars, brothers of lustrous sheen, And the Sire of the storm direct,

All winds, saving the west-blowing läpix, checked,

That thou safely, o Ship, restore

Him thou owest, I pray, to the Athenian shore !

Ι Virgil, whom we to thee confide, Saving, so shalt thou save half of my heart beside !

Firm oak and triple-brass had he All-surrounding his breast, who to the foaming sea

A frail vessel intrusted first, Nor feared Afric's fierce winds, when, with a wild


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