POETRY.
HORACE.—ODE TO AUGUSTUS.
[TRANSLATED BY THEODORE MARTIN.]
[We fear, from the last volume of his " Life of the Prince Consort," that Mr. Martin himself would not consider this lively translation of his as opportune as it scorns to us. But whether ho be willing or unwilling, many will be glad to make use of his'words.]
FROM Gods benign descended, thou, Best guardian of the Fates of Rome, Too long already from thy home Hast thou, dear chief, been absent now.
Oh, then, return, the pledge redeem Thou gav'st the Senate, and once more Its light to all the land restore ; For when thy face, like spring-tide's gleam, Its 'brightness on the people sheds, Then glides the day more sweetly by, A brighter blue pervades the sky, The sun a richer radiance spreads !
As on her boy the mother calls,—
Her boy, whom envious tempests keep Beyond the vexed Carpathian deep, From his dear home, till winter falls, And still with- vow and prayer she cries,
Still gazes on the winding shore,—
So yearns the country evermore For Caesar, with fond, wistful eyes.
For safe the herds range field and fen, Full-headed stand the shocks of grain, Our sailors sweep the peaceful main, And man can trust his fellow-men.
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