Odes 4.9 (Creech): Ne Forte Credas

VAin fear to think those Words will dye
Which born by Aufid's whirling stream,
With unknown Art I first did try
In Lyric numbers joyn'd
With charming strings to bind,
And gently raise my noble Theme.

Tho King in Verse great Homer reigns,
And doth Equality refuse;
Yet Pindar lives in lofty strains,
Alcoeus nobly charms,
The Coean Lyrick warms
With grave Stesichorus stately Muse:

We read Anacreon's wanton toys;
Whilst they our passions gently move,
No Envy blasts, no Age destroys;
And Sappho's charming Lyre
Preserves her soft desire,
And tunes our ravisht Souls to Love.

Not only Helen's Heart was fir'd,
When basely careless of her fame
She Paris Princely Train admir'd,
His Curls surprizing grace,
His Dress, his Art, his Face,
And lewdly fed her lawless Flame.

Not Teucer first drew fatal Bows;
Not Troy but once felt Grecian rage;
Not only Stheneleus brav'd his Foes,
The great first-born of Fame,
That fought, and overcame
And lives in Verse to future Age.

Not Hector first the glory won
Of bravely spending Royal Blood
To guard his hopes, his darling Son;
Nor first profuse of Life
To save a Vertuous Wife
And do his dying Country good.

Before that Age a thousand liv'd,
And sent surprising Glories forth,
But none the silent Grave surviv'd;
In Night their Splendor's gone,
They fell, unmourn'd, unknown;
Because no Verse embalms their Worth.

What worth doth lazy floth excel,
If 'tis withheld from sounding Fame?
Thy Glories I will loudly tell,
And in immortal Verse
Thy living praise reherse,
Nor suffer Age to wast thy Name:

A Generous Mind in Action bold,
Wise in debate, in Council grave,
Too strong for all-attracting Gold:
Let Fortune frown or smile
Thy soul is constant still,
In either State 'tis great and brave:

Not Consul only for one Year,
But still the Chair as oft obtain'd
As equal justice rul'd the Bar,
As oft as Crimes accus'd,
And guilty Bribes refus'd
With haughty look she nobly Reign'd:

Believe not those that Lands possess
And shining heaps of useless Ore
The only Lords of Happiness,
But rather those that know
For what kind Fates bestow,
And have the Art to use the Store:

That have the generous skill to bear
The hated weight of Poverty
Who more than Death will baseness fear,
Who nobly to desend
Their Country or their Friend
Embrace their Fate, and gladly dye.