Odes From Horace. - To Munatius Plancus. Book The First, Ode The Seventh.

A poem by Anna Seward

Be far-fam'd [2]RHODES the theme of loftier strains,
Or [3]MITYLENE, as their Bard decrees;
Or EPHESUS, where great DIANA reigns,
Or CORINTH, towering 'twixt the rival seas;
Or THEBES, illustrious in thy birth divine,
Purpureal BACCHUS; - or of PHOEBUS' shrine
DELPHOS oracular; or warbling hail
Thessalian TEMPE's flower-embroider'd vale.

The Art-crown'd City, chaste MINERVA's pride,
There are, whose endless numbers have pourtray'd;
They, to each tree that spreads its branches wide,
Prefer the [4]tawny Olive's scanty shade.
Many, in JUNO's honor, sing thy meads,
Green ARGOS, glorying in thy agile steeds;
Or opulent MYCENE, whose proud fanes
The blood of murder'd AGAMEMNON stains.

Nor patient LACEDÆMON wakes my lyre,
Who trains her Sons to all the Warrior's toil;
Nor me [5]LARISSA's airy graces fire,
Tho' round her hills the golden vallies smile:
But my lov'd mansion, 'mid the circling wood,
On the green bank of clear Alb[=u]nea's flood,
Its walls resounding with the echo'd roar,
As Anio's torrents down the mountain pour.

Amid my blooming orchards pleas'd I rove,
Guiding the ductile course of murmuring rills;
Or mark the curtains of the sacred grove
Sink in the vales, or sweep along the hills.
[6]Ah Friend! if round my cell such graces shine,
The PALACE of Tiburnian Shades is thine;
She every feature of the Scene commands,
And Empress of its varied beauty stands.

Tho' frequent mists the young Favonius shroud,
Bending his flagging wing with heavy rains,
Yet oft he chases every showery cloud,
Winnowing, with pinion light, th' aerial plains;
Ah! thus from thee let each dark vapor roll,
That rash Ambition gathers on the soul;
The jocund Pleasures in her absence rise,
Glow in the breast, and sparkle in the eyes.

And thou, MUNATIUS, whether Fate ordain
The Camp thy home, with glancing javelins bright;
Or if the graces of that fair domain,
Umbrageous Tivoli, thy steps invite;
If trumpets sound the clang that Warriors love,
Or round thee trill the choirings of the grove,
In flowing bowls drown every vain regret,
Enjoy the PRESENT, and the PAST forget!

The walls of SALAMIS when TEUCER fled,
Driven by a Parent's unrelenting frown,
Hope from his spirit chas'd each anxious dread,
While on his brow he bound the poplar crown;
In rich libation pour'd the generous wine,
Then bath'd his temples in the juice divine;
And thus, with gladden'd eye, and air sedate,
Address'd the drooping Followers of his fate.

"Wherever Destiny, a kinder friend
Than he who gave me birth, may point the way,
Thither resolv'd our duteous steps shall bend,
Nor know presaging fear, nor weak delay.
Doubt flies when Teucer leads, and cold despair,
In Teucer's auspices, shall melt to air;
Phoebus ordains that, in more favoring skies,
Another prosp'rous SALAMIS shall rise.

"So much alike her fountains, fanes, and bowers,
That e'en her name shall dubious meaning bear; -
Then, my lov'd Friends, who oft, in darker hours,
Have shar'd with me a conflict more severe,
O! let us lose in wine our sorrow's weight,
And rise the masters of our future fate!
This night we revel in convivial ease,
To-morrow seek again the vast and pathless seas."