The Roman boy let hard camp training brace
The pinch of poverty with a smile to bear.
Let him ride forth and the fierce Parthians chase
With spear they dread to meet. 'Neath the wide air

Of heaven amid adventures let his life
And war's alarms be led. On him when fall
The glances of the foeman monarch's wife
And betrothed daughter from beleaguered wall

Forth looking, let them sigh lest, raw in use
Of arms, the princely bridegroom should incense
By challenge rash the lion, and let loose
On a wild course of bloody violence.

Sweet for our country and seemly 'tis to die.
Nor death's pursuit can he who flees evade.
Death will not spare to smite the weakling's thigh,
And back by trembling cowardice betrayed.

Virtue, that of rejection cannot know
The stain, with honours all unsullied shines,
Nor, as the gusts of popular favour blow,
Assumes the consul's axes or resigns.

Virtue, unbarring heaven to souls whom worth
Exempts from death, by way none else may tread
Mounts up, and vulgar throngs and clammy earth
Beneath her spurns with wing for flight outspread.

Sure too is trusty silence of reward.
Whoso of Ceres' mysteries the tale
Has uttered, never shall one roof afford
Shelter to him and me, ne'er shall he sail

My comrade in frail yacht. The innocent
Jove oft, when slighted, in the sinner's fate
Has joined. Rare has it been for Punishment
Guilt's track to quit, for all her limping gait.