Classic Poem

A man of truth and honour prov'd,
And in his great resolves unmov'd,
No clam'rous mob his principles can stir,
Nor ev'n a tyrant's threat his manly heart deter.
No — nor the south, whose dread command
Fierce Adria's waves cannot withstand,
Nor thund'ring Jove — the universe might fall,
And not disturb his thoughts, or make him shrink at all.
It was upon no other plan
That Pollux was so great a man,
And wand'ring Hercules atchiev'd the skies —
Augustus too with them to rites divine shall rise.
'Twas by no other art than this,
O Bacchus, sire of social bliss,
Thine unbroke tygers drew thee to the stars,
And Romulus 'scap'd death upon the steeds of Mars.
For to the gods in council join'd
Juno thus spake her gracious mind —
" A foreign whore, and that dire umpire's lust,
Has Troy, ev'n Troy reduc'd to downfal and the dust.
By me and chaste Minerva doom'd,
E'er since Laomedon presum'd
The gods to rob of their most due reward,
And subjects shar'd the fate of their deceitful lord.
No more that ignominious guest
Is of the Spartan dame possest,
Nor Priam's perjur'd house prevails to break,
By Hector's strength alone, the forces of the Greek.
War by our diff'rent int'rests drawn
To such a length, is past and gone —
Henceforward I my wrath to Mars give o'er,
And hatred for the son the Trojan priestess bore.
Him will I gather and befriend
Heav'n's lucid mansions to ascend,
To take his fill from our nectareous bowl,
And in the rank of gods his titles to enroll —
On this condition, that there be
'Twixt Troy and Rome a raging sea
For many a league — and let their exiles reign
And prosper where they will — so that there still remain
O'er Paris and o'er Priam's clay
The trampling herd, the beast of prey,
And cubs secure — The Capitol shall tow'r,
And vanquish'd Medes confess proud Rome's imperial pow'r.
Let her extend her fame and fear
To every region far and near,
Where the mid-sea from Europe Afric rives,
And where o'erflowing Nile the fertile land revives.
Deriving from contempt of gold
A spirit great and uncontroul'd —
Gold best unsought, and cover'd in the sand,
Rather than coin'd for use with sacrilegious hand.
Whatever pole or place be found
To give the world his utmost bound,
There let them pride their armies to engage,
Both where cold mists descend, or torrid sunbeams rage.
But this their fate my word confirms
For Romans on these only terms —
That they should not an ill-judg'd zeal embrace,
Nor think their mother-town they prosper to replace.
If Troy's estate should grow again,
Again their thousands must be slain,
Whilst I, Jove's sister and his wife, command
Against their rising works a new victorious band.
If thrice their walls of brass should rise,
By Phoebus helping from the skies,
Thrice should my Grecian champions lay it low;
Thrice leave their dames and sons to widowhood and woe."
But whither, Muse, do you aspire?
These subjects are not for the lyre —
Too grand and grave — cease, wanton, to rehearse
The converse of the gods in light degrading verse.