An nota tellus est tibi, qva citri
Florent, et atras aurea per comas
Dant mala fulgorem, polumqve
Caeruleum Zephyrus serenat,
Myrtusqve lauri brachia suspicit?
An nota tellus haec tibi? Qvid procul
Moramur? Illuc itur: illuc
Tecum aveo, mea vita, tolli.
Aedesne notae sunt tibi, porticus
Altae columnis, atria fulgida,
Qva stantqve defixae benignoqve
Intuitu statuae loqvuntur:
Heu tristis infans, qvid tibi contigit?
Istaene notae sunt tibi? Qvid diu
Moramur? Illuc itur: illuc
Tecum aveo tua cura tolli.
Notumne montis nubiferum caput,
Mulo petitum per nebulas iter,
Qva sub cavernosis latebris
Progenies habitat draconum,
Fractisqve torrens praecipitat iugis?
Notusne mons est hic tibi? Sic adhuc
Moramur? Illuc imus: illuc
Qvid prohibet, pater alme, tolli?
My thoughts are like a potter's wheel;
I know not where I am, or what I do.
A witch, by fear not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists:
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench,
Are from their hives and houses driven away.
They call'd us, from our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.
Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf,
Or horse or oxen from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.
There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They softly lie and sweetly sleep
Low in the ground.
The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh
That shuts the rose.
Mens mea, ceu figuli currens rota, volvitur orbe;
Nescio nec qvid agam, nec qveis regionibus errem.
Femina saga metu, non vi, velut Hannibal, arma
Nostra retorqvet agens, victriciaqve agmina ducit.
Qvalis apes vapor admotus qvalisve columbas
Teter odor turrim aut alvearia propulit extra.
Olli nonne canes nos iam dixere Britannos
Propter atrocem animum? Patulo exululantibus ore.
Nunc catulis similes discurrimus aeqvore toto.
Hoc agite, O socii: aut aciem instaurate refractam,
Aut signis picta ora leonum exscindite nostris :
Exuite ingenium patriamqve; locoqve leonum
Inbelles ovium in vexilla retexite formas.
Non ita grex ovium modo visum fugit anhelans
Valle lupum, non sic eqvus aut bovis ungula pardum,
Ut Gallo toties victo vos terga dedistis.
Tumuli Quies.
Alma flentibus est qvies;
Fessos hospitium manet;
Suaviter recubant, leves
Hauriuntqve sopores.
Brumae compositos humo
Turbo non magis excitat
Qvam suspiria qvae rosam
Verna vespere claudunt.
Though time has not wreathed
My temples with snow,
Though age hath not breathed
A spell o'er my brow;
Yet care's wither'd fingers
Press on me with pain;
The fleeting pulse lingers,
And lingers in vain.
The eyes which behold thee,
Their brightness is flown;
The arms which enfold thee,
Enfeebled are grown;
And friendship hath left me,
By fortune estranged;
All, all is bereft me,
For thou too art changed.
Yes, dark ills have clouded
The dawning in tears;
Adversity shrouded
My ripening years;
Life's path, wild and dreary,
Draws nigh to its close;
Heart-broken and weary,
I sigh for repose.
The world shall caress thee,
When I cease to be; And suns rise to bless thee,
Which smile not for me;
Aetas si nivibus mihi
Nondum tempora vestiit,
Nec rugas arat in mea
Fronte dura senectus:
At me cura nigro terit
Dente; vita tremit, labat,
Et moratur adhuc, neqve
Profutura moratur.
Qvi te nunc oculi vident
Claritate vacant sua,
Qvaeqve brachia te premunt
Manca viribus arent;
Et sodalitium vetus
Siccos deseruit cados;
Tuqve iam fugiens rapis
Omnia, omnia tecum.
Ortam luce hilari diem
Fletu sors mala polluit,
Et procella virilibus
Incidit gravis annis:
Sed prope est mihi terminus
Tristis et dubiae viae:
Lassa, debilis incipit
Mens avere qvietem.
Tu placebis adhuc, mea Qvom mors lumina clauserit;
Tu beabere solibus
Non mihi redituris.
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