Pollio

Muses of Sicily, essay we nowA somewhat loftier task! Not all men loveCoppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.

Now the last age by Cumae's Sibyl sungHas come and gone, and the majestic rollOf circling centuries begins anew:Justice returns, returns old Saturn's reign,With a new breed of men sent down from heaven.Only do thou, at the boy's birth in whomThe iron shall cease, the golden race arise,Befriend him, chaste Lucina; 'tis thine ownApollo reigns. And in thy consulate,This glorious age, O Pollio, shall begin,And the months enter on their mighty march.Under thy guidance, whatso tracks remainOf our old wickedness, once done away,Shall free the earth from never-ceasing fear.He shall receive the life of gods, and seeHeroes with gods commingling, and himselfBe seen of them, and with his father's worthReign o'er a world at peace. For thee, O boy,First shall the earth, untilled, pour freely forthHer childish gifts, the gadding ivy-sprayWith foxglove and Egyptian bean-flower mixed,And laughing-eyed acanthus. Of themselves,Untended, will the she-goats then bring homeTheir udders swollen with milk, while flocks afieldShall of the monstrous lion have no fear.Thy very cradle shall pour forth for theeCaressing flowers. The serpent too shall die,Die shall the treacherous poison-plant, and farAnd wide Assyrian spices spring. But soonAs thou hast skill to read of heroes' fame,And of thy father's deeds, and inly learnWhat virtue is, the plain by slow degreesWith waving corn-crops shall to golden grow,From the wild briar shall hang the blushing grape,And stubborn oaks sweat honey-dew. NathlessYet shall there lurk within of ancient wrongSome traces, bidding tempt the deep with ships,Gird towns with walls, with furrows cleave the earth.Therewith a second Tiphys shall there be,Her hero-freight a second Argo bear;New wars too shall arise, and once againSome great Achilles to some Troy be sent.Then, when the mellowing years have made thee man,No more shall mariner sail, nor pine-tree barkPly traffic on the sea, but every landShall all things bear alike: the glebe no moreShall feel the harrow's grip, nor vine the hook;The sturdy ploughman shall loose yoke from steer,Nor wool with varying colours learn to lie;But in the meadows shall the ram himself,Now with soft flush of purple, now with tintOf yellow saffron, teach his fleece to shine.While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs."Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"Sang to their spindles the consenting FatesBy Destiny's unalterable decree.Assume thy greatness, for the time draws nigh,Dear child of gods, great progeny of Jove!See how it totters- the world's orbed might,Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault profound,All, see, enraptured of the coming time!Ah! might such length of days to me be given,And breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,Nor Thracian Orpheus should out-sing me then,Nor Linus, though his mother this, and thatHis sire should aid- Orpheus Calliope,And Linus fair Apollo. Nay, though Pan,With Arcady for judge, my claim contest,With Arcady for judge great Pan himselfShould own him foiled, and from the field retire.

Begin to greet thy mother with a smile,O baby-boy! ten months of wearinessFor thee she bore: O baby-boy, begin!For him, on whom his parents have not smiled,Gods deem not worthy of their board or bed.