Rearing her goodly bowers on high. That now, redeemed from late disgrace, The wealthy mother of a countless race, She lifts her front in shining majesty. 'Tis ever thus, by toil and pain, And yet, if conquest crown our aim, Even from the envious herd a forced applause we claim. O cloud-enthroned, protecting Jove, Who sittest the Cronian cliffs above, And that dark gloom hast deigned to love Of Ida's holy cave. On softest Lydian notes to thee I tune the choral prayer, That this thy town, the brave, the free, The strong in virtuous energy, May feel thine endless care. And, victor thou, whose matchless might Still, Psaumis, be thy chief delight In generous coursers found. And gently fall the stroke of fate, And know, when favoring gods have given And wealth and fame in store, The task were vain to scale the heaven. VI. TO AGESIAS OF SYRACUSE. WHO seeks a goodly bower to raise, So bright, so bold, so wonderful, Who, 'mid the sons of mortal men, He came, the priest of blameless life. To him, the prophet chief of yore, When, snatched from Thebes' accursed fight, Down, down he sank to earthly night. When the fight was ended, And the sevenfold pyres In one sad lustre blended, The leader of the host Augur tried and true, J And strong to wield the spear.' O Syracusan peer, For of a gentle blood thy race is sprung, Then yoke the mules of winged pace, Unbar the gates of song, unbar,— She, mournful nymph, and nursing long (Dark as the violet's darkest shade,) In solitary sorrow bare. Then to her nurse the infant maid She weeping gave, and bade convey To high Phersana's hall away: ere woman-grown, and doomed to prove urn a god's disastrous love, Her charms allured the lord of day. |