And thou, oh father, hear his prayer!-
For much I praise the knightly care
That trains the warrior steed:
Nor less the hospitable hall
Whose open doors the stranger call;
Yet, praise I Psaumis most of all
For wise and peaceful rede,
And patriot love of liberty.
-What?-do we weave the glozing lie ?— Then whoso list my truth to try, The proof be in the deed!
To Lemnos' laughing dames of yore,
Such was the proof Ernicus bore,
When, matchless in his speed,
All brazen-arm'd the racer hoar,
Victorious on the applauding shore,
Sprang to the proffer'd meed ;-
Bow'd to the Queen his wreathed head ;
Thou seest my limbs are light," he said;
"And, lady, mayst thou know,
That every joint is firmly strung,
And hand and heart alike are young;
Though treacherous time my locks among Have strew'd a summer snow!"
ACCEPT of these Olympian games the crown,
Daughter of Ocean, rushy Camarine !—
The flower of knightly worth and high renown,
Which car-borne Psaumis on thy parent shrine,
(Psaumis, the patriot, whom thy peopled town
Its second author owns,) with rite divine
Suspends! His praise the twice six altars tell
Of the great gods whom he hath feasted well
With blood of bull; the praise of victory,
Where cars and mules and steeds contest the prize :
And that green garland of renown to thee
He hallows, virgin daughter of the sea!
And to his sire and household deities.-
Thee, too, returning home from Pelops' land,
Thee, guardian Pallas, and thy holy wood,
He hails with song; and cool Oanus' flood;
And of his native pool the rushy strand;
And thy broad bed, refreshing Hipparis,
Whose silent waves the peopled city kiss;
That city which hath blest his bounteous hand
Rearing her goodly bowers on high.-
That now, redeem'd from late disgrace,
The wealthy mother of a countless race,
She lifts her front in shining majesty.-
'Tis ever thus! by toil, and pain,
And cumbrous cost, we strive to gain
Some seeming prize whose issues lie
In darkness and futurity.
And yet, if conquest crown our aim,
Then foremost in the rolls of fame,
Even from the envious herd a forced applause we claim.
O cloud-enthroned, protecting Jove,
Who sits the Cronian cliffs above,
And Alpheus' ample wave,
And that dark gloom hast deign'd to love
Of Ida's holy cave!
On softest Lydian notes to thee
I tune the choral prayer,
That this thy town, the brave, the free,
The strong in virtuous energy,
May feel thine endless care.
And, victor, thou, whose matchless might
The Pisan wreath hath bound;
Still, Psaumis, be thy chief delight
In generous coursers found.—
Calm be thy latter age, and late
And gently fall the stroke of fate,
Thy children standing round!
And know, when favouring gods have given A green old age, a temper even,
And wealth and fame in store,
The task were vain to scale the heaven ;-
-Have those immortals more ?-
WHO seeks a goodly bower to raise,
Conspicuous to the stranger's eye,
With gold the lintel overlays,
And clothes the porch in ivory.
So bright, so bold, so wonderful,
The choicest themes of verse I cull,
To each high song a frontal high !—
But lives there one, whose brows around
The green Olympian wreath is bound;
Prophet and priest in those abodes
Where Pisans laud the sire of gods;
And Syracusa's denizen ?—
Who, 'mid the sons of mortal men,
While envy's self before his name
Abates her rage, may fitlier claim
Whate'er a bard may yield of fame ?—
For sure, to no forbidden strife,
In hallow'd Pisa's field of praise,
He came, the priest of blameless life !—
Nor who in peace hath pass'd his days,
Marring with canker sloth his might,
May hope a name in standing fight
Nor in the hollow ship to raise !—
By toil, illustrious toil alone,
Of elder times the heroes shone;
And, bought by like emprize, to thee,
O warrior priest, like honour be;—
Such praise as good Adrastus bore
To him, the prophet chief of yore,
When, snatch'd from Thebes' accursed fight,
With steed and car and armour bright,
Down, down he sank to earthy night.-
When the fight was ended,
And the sevenfold pyres
All their funeral fires
In one sad lustre blended,
The leader of the host
Murmur'd mournfully,
"I lament the eye
Of all mine army lost!
To gods and mortals dear,
Either art he knew ;
Augur tried and true,
And strong to wield the spear !"
And, by the powers divine,
Such praise is justly thine,
Oh Syracusian peer.—
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