Odes 2.20 (Creech): Non Usitata

NO weak, no common Wing shall bear
My rising Body thro the Air;
Now chang'd I upward go;
I'le grovel here on Earth no more,
More high than Envy's self can soar,
I leave Mortality and things below:

Not Me, not Me, the meanly Born,
Whom the proud Fools and haughty scorn,
Not Me shall Death controul:
Not I, whom you I know not what,
Mecaenas, call, will yield to Fate:
Nor shall the Stygian Waves confine my Soul:

Rough Skin o're both my Legs is spread,
And shining Feathers Crown my Head;
Above I'me turn'd a Swan:
O're both my Hands light Plumes do spring,
My Arm is chang'd into a Wing,
And now I move with greater speed than Man:

On stronger, and on swifter Wing,
Than Icarus fled, I rise and Sing:
A sounding Bird I soar,
I'le see the distant Northern Pole
I'le see the Southern Billows roul,
And spread my Wings o're Bosphorus groaning Shore.

My Songs shall to the Colchian Ears,
And German that conceals his fears
Of Roman Troops be known:
The Moors, and in my numerous Verse
The Scythians Skill'd shall Songs rehearse:
The Spaniard too, and He that drinks the Rhone.

Mourn not, no friendly drops must fall,
No sighs attend my Funeral,
Those Common Deaths may crave:
Let no disgraceful Grief appear,
Nor damp my Glory with a Tear:
And spare the useless Honors of a Grave.