Odes 4.9 (Martin): Ne Forte Credas

Never deem, they must perish, the verses, which T,
Who was born where the waters of Aufidus roar,
To the chords of the lyre with a cunning ally
Unknown to the bards of my country before!

Though Maeonian Homer unrivall'd may reign,
Yet are not the Muses Pindaric unknown,
The threats of Alcaeus, the Ceian's sad strain,
Nor stately Stesichorus' lordlier tone.

Unforgot is the sportive Anacreon's lay.
Still, still sighs the passion, unquench'd is the fire,
Which the Lesbian maiden in days far away
From her love-laden bosom breathed into the lyre.

Not alone has Lacaenian Helena's gaze
Been fix'd by the gloss of a paramour's hair,
By vestments with gold and with jewels ablaze.
By regal array, and a retinue rare;

Nor did Teucer first wield the Cydonian bow,
Nor was Troy by a foe but once harass'd and wrung;
Nor Idomeneus only, or Sthenelus show
Such prowess in war as deserved to be sung;

Nor yet was redoubtable Hector, nor brave
Deiphobus first in the bard-stricken field
By the dint of the strokes, which they took and they gave,
Their babes and the wives of their bosoms to shield.

Many, many have lived, who were valiant in fight,
Before Agamemnon; but all have gone down,
Unwept and unknown, in the darkness of night,
For lack of a poet to hymn their renown.

Hidden worth differs little from sepulchred ease,
But, Lollius, thy fame in my pages shall shine;
I will not let pale-eyed Forgetfulness seize
These manifold noble achievements of thine.

Thou, my friend, hast a soul, by whose keen-sighted range
Events afar off in their issues are seen,
A soul, which maintains itself still through each change
Of good or ill fortune erect and serene.

Of rapine and fraud the avenger austere,
To wealth and its all-snaring blandishments proof,
The Consul art thou not of one single year.
But as oft as a judge, from all baseness aloof,

Thou hast made the expedient give place to the right,
And flung back the bribes of the guilty with scorn,
And on through crowds warring against thee with might
Thy far-flashing arms hast triumphantly borne.

Not him, who of much that men prize is possess'd,
May'st thou fitly call "blest"; he may claim to enjoy
More fitly, more truly, the title of "blest,"
Who wisely the gifts of the gods can employ; —

"Who want, and its hardships, and slights can withstand,
And shrinks from disgrace as more bitter than death;
Not he for the friends whom he loves, or the land
Of his fathers will dread to surrender his breath.