Classic Poem

What care may Senate and Roman people take,
In public archives and on graven stone
Recording honours high bestowed, to make
Thy virtues through all future ages known,

Augustus, thou of princes chief, where'er
On habitable shores the sun sheds light,
Who taught'st but late Vindelici, that dare
Our laws reject, how great in war thy might?

For 'twas with troops he from thine army drew
That Drusus flung the wild Genauni down,
And nimble Breuni, and their forts o'erthrew,
That awful Alpine precipices crown,

Repaying with full interest their attack.
The elder Nero next on hard-fought field
Engaging, under happy stars drove back
And forced the giant Rhaetians to yield.

'Twas glorious to see how in the fray
On breasts to death for freedom vowed he fell
With earthquake-shocks that wore their strength away
(As Auster drives the waves he cannot quell,

What time 'twixt parted clouds the Pleiads show
Their dancing lights), with zeal that never tires
Keen to assail the squadrons of the foe,
And spur his foaming charger through the fires.

Even so bull-fronted Aufidus in spate,
River that skirts the bounds of Daunus' land,
Rolls forth, when he the fields to devastate
With horrid flood in his mad rage has planned,

As 'gainst the steel-clad tribesmen Claudius made
The charge that broke their ranks in ruin lost:
With van and rear, like corn by sickle laid,
He strewed the ground, victorious at no cost.

'Twas thou didst forces, plan, ay! gods, provide.
For 'twas the day when, for peace terms compelled
To sue, her ports and empty palace wide
To thee as conqueror Alexandria held,

That just three lustres later, Fortune came
To guide thy warfare to a prosperous end,
And coveted laurels bore, that to the fame
Won in thy past campaigns fresh brilliance lend.

Cantabrian whom none else could tame, and Mede,
Indian, and Scyth of ever-shifting home,
Are awed by thee, the present help in need
Of Italy and of imperial Rome.

Thee the great stream that hides his sources, Nile,
And Danube, rapid-flowing Tigris thee,
Thee monster-teeming Ocean, that the isle
Of far-off Britons beats with angry sea,

Thee Gaul that faces death with dauntless breast,
The land of hard Iberia thee obeys:
To thee, his arms laid by in peace to rest,
The bloodthirsty Sygambrian worship pays.