Odes 3.3 (Gladstone): Justum Et Tenacem

The just man, in his purpose strong,
No madding crowd can bend to wrong.
The forceful tyrant's brow and word,
Rude Auster, fickle Adria's lord,

His firm-set spirit cannot move,
Nor the great hand of thundering Jove.
On him all fearless would be hurled
The ruins of a crumbling world.

So errant Hercules did rise,
And Pollux, to the blazing skies;
Near whom reclined Augustus sips
The nectar with empurpled lips.

So tigers, evil to subdue,
Thee, father Bacchus, upwards drew;
So, borne by fiery steeds of Mars
Quirinus hell itself unbars.

Juno, the assenting gods among,
Spake thus, 'That dame of alien tongue,
That Judge befooled by Fate and Lust,
Have shattered Ilion into dust;

'To me and Pallas doomed a prey,
Her king and people, from the day
When false Laomedon detained
The wage that gods by pact had gained.

'The adulterous wife, the guest's disgrace
Are noised no more: no perjured race
Of Priam now by Hector's hands
Repels the fierce Achaian bands.

'That war is past, sprung from our jars.
I waive my wrath: I leave to Mars
The grandson, hated now no more,
His child, whom Priestess Ilia bore.

'To mount and dwell in heavenly sheen,
To reckon in the ranks serene
Of gods, to quaff the nectar's juice;
All this I grant, for wonted use;

'But only while a breadth of sea
Parts Rome from Troy. Lords let them be,
Save there, in every region blest:
Where Priam and where Paris rest,

'Beasts must be safe to breed, and kine
To trample. Then may stand and shine
The Capitol: and Rome impose
Stern laws on vanquished Median foes;

'With dread renown pushed far and wide,
Yea widest, where the severing tide
Parts Europe from the southern shores
And flooding Nile the field restores;

'Still spurning gold, for gold is best
Unfound, within the earth at rest,
Not beat for human use and gain,
And hands that holy things profane.

'Their arms shall touch Earth's farthest bound;
Shall dare to search all lands around,
Where gathered clouds and rains to meet,
Where track the regions parched with heat.

'For warlike Rome 't is thus foretold.
But so, that, neither overbold
Nor overfond, she be not fain
To rear ancestral Troy again.

'No: Troy, reborn with omens ill,
Her cup of woe again shall fill,
For I, Jove's sister and his wife,
Will lead the host to wage the strife.

'Thrice, Phoebus, build thy brazen wall;
Thrice by mine Argives it shall fall;
The captive matron thrice, forlorn,
Her husband and her boys shall mourn.'

But hold, my Muse. These themes require
The music of a graver lyre;
The talk of gods no more recall,
Nor whittle great things down to small.