Odes 1.15 (Creech): Pastor Cum Traheret

WHen faithless Paris stole away,
And carry'd Helen thro the Sea;
Then Nereus still'd the Wind:
He quieted the angry Seas,
And lull'd the Billows into ease,
Ease to the Lovers hast unkind.

Whilst thus he sang, Thou carry'st home
Thine own, false Youth and Country's doom;
Whom Greeks shall fetch again
With all their force; and all combine
To break that wicked Match of thine,
And Ancient Priam's noble reign.

What labor, ah! what dust and heat!
And how the Men, and Horses sweat!
Ah Troy what Fates engage!
E'en furious Pallas now prepares
Her Helmet and her Shield for Wars;
Her dreadful Chariot, and her Rage.

In vain shalt thou thy safety place
In Venus aid, and paint thy face;
In vain adorn thy hair;
In vain thy feeble Harp shalt move,
And sing soft tales of easie Love,
To please the wanton and the fair.

In vain shalt Thou avoid thy Foe,
The winged Dart, and Cretan Bow,
Things grievous to thy joys:
In vain with grief shalt fear to view
Stout Ajax eager to pursue,
And strive to fly the hated noise.

But ah too late, ah much too late
Thou shalt endure the stroak of Fate,
And find the Gods are just:
Too late Thou shalt deserv'dly feel
The force of the revenging steel,
And soyl th' Adulterous locks in dust.

Dost Thou not see grave Nestor's age,
And fierce Ulysses wilely rage,
The ruine of thy State?
Nor Teucer's brave undaunted force
Nor Stheneleus that drives his Horse
As furious and as fast as Fate?

Ah Thou shalt see Merione
In Trojan dust severely gay;
And fierce Tydides rave;
Look how he frowns, and roves about
To find the Feeble Paris out;
Tydides, as his Father brave.

These feeble Paris thou shalt fly
As trembling Does whose fears espy
A Lion in a Grove;
They leave their Herbs, with panting Breath,
They strive to shun pursuing Death;
Was this thy Promise to Thy Love!

Achilles angry for a Wrong
Shall Troyes approaching Fate prolong;
But after certain years
Thessalian Flames and Grecian Fire
Shall o're the proudest Piles aspire:
And fill the Matrons Eyes with Tears: