Odes 1.29 (Martin): Icci, Beatis

So, Iccius, thou hast hankerings
For swart Arabia's golden treasures,
And for her still unconquer'd kings
Art marshalling war's deadly measures,
And forging fetters meant to tame
The insulting Mede that is our terror and our shame?

Say, what barbarian virgin fair
Shall wait on thee, that slew her lover.
What princely boy, with perfumed hair,
Thy cup-bearer, shall round thee hover,
School'd by his sire, with fatal craft
To wing, all vainly now, the unerring Seric shaft?

Up mountains steep may glide the brooks,
And Tiber to its sources roam,
When thou canst change thy noble books
Cull'd far and near, and learned home,
For armour dipp'd in Ebro's wave.
Thou who to all our hopes far nobler promise gave!