Odes 1.2 (Gladstone): Jam Satis Terris

Enough, O Sire, thine hailstorms swell,
Thy snow descends; thy red right hand
Hath smit the holy citadel,
And fear hath seized the Roman land;

Yea, all the lands, lest portent new
The signs of Pyrrha's age fulfil,
His herd of seals when Proteus drew
To bask upon the topmost hill

The elm-tree top to fishy kinds,
Of old the dove's familiar nest,
Gave harbour; while the trembling hinds
The plunging waters strove to breast.

We saw when golden Tiber stood
Back-holden on his Tuscan shore,
And then on Vesta's fane his flood;
And Numa's palace fiercely bore.

He brags of vengeance, to requite
His Ilia's well-lamented woes,
Uxorious river! and despite
Of Jove his leftward bank o'erflows.

Our youth the civil clash shall hear,
(Alas, through crimes of sires too few)
For Rome now sharpens sword and spear
More meet for Persian hordes to rue.

Which god shall trembling Rome entreat
A falling empire's weight to bear?
How vestals find petition meet
For ears, less open now to prayer?

To whom shall Jove the charge assign
Our crimes to cancel? Come at last
With clouds, Apollo, Seer Divine,
About thy shining shoulders cast.

Or, please it thee, fair Venus, come
To laugh with Sport and Cupid taught,
Or Mars, our founder, thou; if Rome
And thine own seed be worth a thought.

Enough of thine insatiate swoop,
Thy game of shout, and burnished helm,
And the fell rush of Marsian troop
Their bleeding foes to overwhelm.

Or, gentle Maia's winged son,
If with an altered form content,
Deign to be Caesar's champion,
Shrined in his earthly tenement.

Long be thy joyous reign in Rome,
Late the return to heaven be won,
Nor earlier take thy passage home
Our manners, foul with sin, to shun.

As father and as prince abide.
And here thy lofty triumphs gain,
Nor let the Mede unpunished ride
While Caesar lives, and lives to reign.