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His mother's charms a master's prize survey'd,
Owed to the son of Danaë, on that day,
Their mournful fate, when, safe through mightier
He bore Medusa's features fair away.
To him they owed it, sprung from Love
But when his foe the Goddess, from above,
Drink in their sweetness, lasting laws she makes
'Tis at the games, in winning accents, heard
Soft as the skilful breath is born
Through well-wrought brass, and slender reeds,
That near the city of the Graces, torn
* Orchomenus, a city of Boeotia, sacred to the Graces. + He had gained the victory, as the Scholiast says, after breaking his instrument.
TRANSLATION OF A LATIN ODE BY
O DOOM'D the barbarous seats with me
To visit, where disturb'd we see
Strife's restless look, and hear his sound,
And the gownmen bustle round;
Say, how much better, in the shade
Of some old elm reposing laid,
For oft I chase the thoughts away
And in each hill, where'er I go,
Parnassus seems his woods to shew
Outstretch'd; and in each fountain clear
Aganippe cool appear.
Spring and the sportive Nymphs have smiled
To spy me in recesses wild,
Scenting the violets, that there
Load with sweets the morning air;
As, thrown at random on the grass,
I mark the playful current pass,
Thus, when the Season's earliest flowers
Free from clouds preserved the sky.
Nor yet I leave the fields and ease;
(Though now the winds are cold and rude, And the summer changing view'd.)
For when on rural labours gay,
Wistful I mark his wondrous course;"
He spreads, where Calpe's rocks aspire,
Till by degrees his lustre grown
Fades at once the landscape green.
* This poetical idea is in a rejected stanza of the
"Him have we seen
"With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun."