Epodes 16 (Creech): Altera Jam Teritur

NOw Civil Wars do wast another Age,
And Rome must fall by her own rage;
What neighbouring Marsi with an envious Hand,
What threatning Porsen's Thuscan Band,
Fierce Spartaeus, and Capua's rival Fate,
The force of all the German State;
What in unsetled times the faithless Gaul,
The Mother-hated Hannibal,
Could not destroy, We, We, an impious Brood
Devoted still, and doom'd to Blood,
Shall ruin now by force of Civil Wars,
And leave our Towns to Wolves and Bears:
Ah me! the barbarous Horse with sounding Feet
Shall tread our Graves, and beat our Street,
And madly, scatter, Oh too proud! unjust!
Rome's glorious Founder's quiet dust!
Perhaps the most, or better part would know
What way to shun the falling blow,
I like that way the Phoceans once have gone;
They all forsook their cursed Town,
And did their Lands, their Fields and Shrines restore
To ravenous Wolf and angry Bore:
Let's go, let's go, and seek a place to live
Where Chance directs, or Wind shall drive:
Agreed? or do's some better Course appear?
Come let's imbark the Omen's fair:
But first let's swear wee'l then return again
When Rocks shall float upon the Main,
When lowly Po shall pour his Crystal Urn
O're Alpine Tops then We'l return;
When Appennine runs out, and cuts the Floods,
When nimble Dolphins graze in Woods,
When wondrous Lust strange kinds shall strangely joyn,
Fierce Tygers leap the willing Kine,
The fearless Does shall court the Lyon's Love
And cruel Hawks gallant the Dove:
When Goats grown smooth shall leave the flowry Plain,
And dive and wanton in the Main:
To this, and such as cut off sweet return
When we have all devoutly sworn,
Let's go Curst Town, but let the soft and base,
Still stick to their unhappy place:
You Men of worth unmanly grief give o're
And nimbly pass the Thuscan Shore,
The Ocean waits, and in smooth calmness smiles,
Let's go and seek the happy Isles,
Where Fields untill'd a Yearly Harvest bear
And Vines undress'd bloom all the Year:
Where Olives ne're the Farmers hopes do mock,
And ripe figs grace their proper Stock:
There Hony flows from Oaks, from lofty Hills,
With murmuring pace the Fountain trills,
There Goats uncall'd return from fruithful Vales
And bring stretcht Duggs to fill the Pails:
No Bear grinns round the Fold, No Lambs He shakes;
No Field swells there with poysnous Snakes:
More we shall wonder on the happy Plain;
The Watry East descends in Rain,
Yet so as to refresh, not drown the Fields,
The temperate Glebe full Harvest yields;
No heat annoys, the Ruler of the Gods
From Plagues secures these blest Abodes:
Here Jason never fixt swift Argos Oars,
Nor base Medea toucht these Shores;
Ne're Cadmus came when forc't by angry Fates,
Nor stout Ulysses weary Mates:
No rot here Reigns, no Star here taints the Meads,
And poysnous Heat unkindly sheds;
When Jove allay'd the golden Age with Brass,
For Pious men He kept this place:
Now Iron hardens the old Brazen Age,
And Fraud grows up, and Wars, and Rage,
And every Ill, I press a quick retreat,
And show the good, the happy seat.