Odes 1.35 (Creech): O Diva, Gratum

GReat Goddess, Antium's guardian Power,
Whose force is strong and quick to raise
The lowest to the highest place;
Or with a wond'rous fall
To bring the haughty lower;
And turn proud Triumphs to a Funeral.

The labouring Swain thy Aid implores,
His Prayers are mixt of Fear and Hope
On Thee depending for his Crop;
Thee Merchants Thee confess
When far remov'd from Shores,
And bow to Thee the Mistress of the Seas.

To thee their Vows rough Germans pay,
To Thee the wandring Scythians bend,
Thee mighty Rome proclaims a friend:
And for their Tyrant Sons
The barbarous Mothers pray
To thee, the greatest Guardian of their Thrones:

They bend, they vow, and still they fear
Lest you should kick their Empire down
And cloud the glory of their Crown;
They fear that you would raise
The lazy Crowd to War,
And break their Empire, or confine their Praise.

Necessity still stalks before,
And leads the way with poys'nous breath,
And all the Instruments of Death;
Sharp Swords, and Wheels and Racks
That flow with putrid gore
Her brazen hand to fright the Nations shakes.

Sure Hope, and Friendship cloath'd in white
Attend on Thee, they still remain
The chiefest Glories of thy Train;
Thô you inrag'd retreat
And with a hasty flight,
Thy Garment chang'd, forsake the falling Great.

But the base Crowd, the Perjur'd Whore,
And when the Casks of Wine are dry,
The false Pretenders quickly fly;
They all refuse to bend
With the declining Poor
And take the heavy yoke to ease their Friend.

Preserve Great Caesar, Caesar leads
To distant Britan, guide his Fate,
And keep the Glory of our State,
The youth that must infest
With Arms the haughty Medes;
And scatter Fears and Slavery thrô the Fast.

I blush at the dishonest show,
I die to see the Wounds and Scars
Those Glorys of our Civil Wars;
What Sins, a Cursed Age
Were We afraid to do,
And what hath scap't the fury of our rage?

What dread of Heaven, or fears of Hell
Could stop the Impious daring hand?
And was not every shrine prophan'd!
Oh wouldst Thou quickly whet
Our impious blunted steel
To fight the bold Arabian, and the Gete.