Yet nearest to her sire’s is set
       Minerva’s throne. 
     Nor yet shall Bacchus pass unsaid,
       Bold warrior, nor the virgin foe
     Of savage beasts, nor Phoebus, dread
       With deadly bow. 
     Alcides too shall be my theme,
       And Leda’s twins, for horses be,
     He famed for boxing; soon as gleam
       Their stars at sea,
     The lash’d spray trickles from the steep,
       The wind sinks down, the storm-cloud flies,
     The threatening billow on the deep
       Obedient lies. 
     Shall now Quirinus take his turn,
       Or quiet Numa, or the state
     Proud Tarquin held, or Cato stern,
       By death made great? 
     Ay, Regulus and the Scaurian name,
       And Paullus, who at Cannae gave
     His glorious soul, fair record claim,
       For all were brave. 
     Thee, Furius, and Fabricius, thee,
       Rough Curius too, with untrimm’d beard,
     Your sires’ transmitted poverty
        To conquest rear’d. 
     Marcellus’ fame, its up-growth hid,
       Springs like a tree; great Julius’ light
     Shines, like the radiant moon amid
       The lamps of night. 
     Dread Sire and Guardian of man’s race,
       To Thee, O Jove, the Fates assign
     Our Caesar’s charge; his power and place
       Be next to Thine. 
     Whether the Parthian, threatening Rome,
       His eagles scatter to the wind,
     Or follow to their eastern home
       Cathay and Ind,
     Thy second let him rule below: 
       Thy car shall shake the realms above;
     Thy vengeful bolts shall overthrow
       Each guilty grove.

XIII.

Cum tu, Lydia.

Telephus—­you praise him still,
His waxen arms, his rosy-tinted neck;
Ah! and all the while I thrill
With jealous pangs I cannot, cannot check. 
See, my colour comes and goes,
My poor heart flutters, Lydia, and the dew,
Down my cheek soft stealing, shows
What lingering torments rack me through and through. 
Oh, ’tis agony to see
Those snowwhite shoulders scarr’d in drunken fray,
Or those ruby lips, where he
Has left strange marks, that show how rough his play! 
Never, never look to find
A faithful heart in him whose rage can harm
Sweetest lips, which Venus kind
Has tinctured with her quintessential charm. 
Happy, happy, happy they
Whose living love, untroubled by all strife,
Binds them till the last sad day,
Nor parts asunder but with parting life!

XIV

O NAVIS, referent.