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1752–1832

HORACE, LIB. I. ODE 15

Philip Morin Freneau

As‘ cross the deep to Priam's shore The Trojan prince bright Helen bore, Old Nereus hushed each noisy breeze And calmed the tumults of the seas.

Then, musing on the traitor's doom, Thus he foretold the woes to come; “Ah why remove, mistaken swain, “The prize that Greece shall seizeagain!

“With omens sad, you sail along; “And Europe shall resent the wrong, “Conspire to seize your bride away, “And Priam's town in ashes lay.

“Alas! what toils and deaths combined! “What hosts of men and horses joined!— “Bold Pallas now prepares her shield, “And arms her chariot for the field.

“Can you with heavenly forms engage, “A goddess kindling into rage; “Who ne'er have dared a mortal foe “And wars, alone, of Venus, know.

“In vain you dress your flowing hair, “And songs, to aid the harp, prepare; “The harp, that sung to female ears, “Shall fail when Mars and Greece appears.

“In vain will you bewail your bride, “And meanly in her chamber hide, “In hopes to shun, when lingering there, “The massy dart, and Cretan spear.

“In vain will you, with quickening pace, “Avoid fierce Ajax in the chace; “For late those locks, that please the eye, “In dust and death must scattered lie.

“Do you not see Ulysses, too, “The sage that brings your nation low: “And Nestor from the land of Pyle — “Chiefs skilled in arms and martial toil.

“Dost thou not see bold Teucer here, “And him — no tardy chariotteer; “Who both pursue with eager force, “And both controul the thundering horse.

“Thou, to thy grief, shalt Merion know, “And Tydeus’ son shall prove thy foe, “Who wastes your realms with sword and fire; “Tydides, greater than his sire.

“Like timorous deer, prepared to fly “When hungry wolves are passing by, “No more the herbs their steps detain, “They quit their pastures, and the plain:

“So you from his triumphant arms “Will fly, with all your female charms; “Can deeds, like these, your valour prove, “Was this your promise to your love?

“Achilles’ wrath shall but delay “Your ruin to a later day — “The Trojan matrons then may mourn, “And Troy by Grecian vengeance burn.”

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HORACE, LIB. I. ODE 15 · Philip Morin Freneau · Poetry Cove