Odes 1.12 (Martin): Quem Virum Aut Heroa

What man, what hero, Clio, wilt thou sing,
With lyre or fluting shrill?
What god, whose name shall sportive echo ring
On Helicon's umbrageous hill,
Or Pindus' steepy crest, or Haemus ever chill?

Whose groves reel'd after Orpheus, and his song,
Who by its spell could stay
The rushing sweep of streams and tempests strong,
And by his tuneful harpings sway
The listening oaks to move where'er he led the way.

What shall I sing before his praise, who reigns
The world's great sire, and guides
Of men and gods the pleasures and the pains,
Who rules the land and ocean's tides,
And change of seasons meet for the vast earth provides?

From whom springs none that mightier is than he,
Nor other can we trace.
Of equal might, or second in degree;
Yet Pallas fills the honour'd place
Next to her sire, upraised o'er all the Olympian race.

Nor, Bacchus, bold in battle, shall thy- fame
My numbers fail to show,
And, virgin huntress of the woods, thy name
In answering strains shall flow,
And thine, Apollo, thine, god of the unerring bow!

Alcides, too, and Leda's sons I'll sound
In echoing song afar
For wrestling this, that for the race renown'd,
Soon as whose clear effulgent star
Upon the shipman gleams, amid the tempest's war,

Down from the rocks subsides the weltering spray,
The winds in zephyrs creep,
The clouds disperse, that veil d the gladsome day,
And on the wild and wasteful deep
The threat'ning waves — such power is theirs — are lull'd to sleep.

What next shall fill the burden of my strain,
I wist not to decide;
Or Romulus, or Numa's tranquil reign,
Or Tarquin towering in his pride,
Or him of Utica, the brave, that nobly died.

Next Regulus, and the Scauri, Paulus too,
That flung his soul away.
His mighty soul, when Punic foes o'erthrew
Our strength on Cannae's fatal day,
With grateful pride I'll chaunt in my undying lay;

Fabricius too, and Curius of the locks
Unkempt, — Camillus, — all
Nurtured to warfare by the daily shocks
Of stern privation, in the small
Paternal farm and cot that made of wealth their all.

With growth occult, as shoots the vigorous tree,
Marc ell us' fame doth grow;
The star of Julius shines resplendently,
Eclipsing all the starry row,
As 'mid the lesser fires bright Luna's lamp doth glow.

Thou sire and guardian of all human kind,
Saturnian Jove, to thee
The care of mighty Caesar was assign'd
By the o'erruling fates, and he
Next to thyself in power our sovereign lord shall be.

Whether he quell the Parthian threatening spoil
To Latium, and lead
The foe, that would insult our natal soil,
In spotless triumph, — or the Mede
Subdue, and other foes, the sweltering East doth breed;

Next under thee, his righteous hand shall make
The world his rule obey;
Olympus thou with thy dread car shalt shake.
Thou shalt thy vengeful bolts array
Against the groves, wherein foul orgies shrink from day.