Fleeter than Icarus, see me floatO'er Bosporus, singing as I go,And o'er Gaetulian sands remote,And Hyperborean fields of snow;By Dacian horde, that masks its fearOf Marsic steel, shall I be known,And furthest Scythian: Spain shall hearMy warbling, and the banks of Rhone.No dirges for my fancied death;No weak lament, no mournful stave;All clamorous grief were waste of breath,And vain the tribute of a grave.

Bid the unhallow'd crowd avaunt!Keep holy silence; strains unknownTill now, the Muses' hierophant,I sing to youths and maids alone.Kings o'er their flocks the sceptre wield;E'en kings beneath Jove's sceptre bow:Victor in giant battle-field,He moves all nature with his brow.