The man of firm and righteous will,No rabble, clamorous for the wrong,No tyrant's brow, whose frown may kill,Can shake the strength that makes him strong:Not winds, that chafe the sea they sway,Nor Jove's right hand, with lightning red:Should Nature's pillar'd frame give way,That wreck would strike one fearless head.Pollux and roving Hercules Thus won their way to Heaven's proud steep,'Mid whom Augustus, couch'd at ease,Dyes his red lips with nectar deep.For this, great Bacchus, tigers drewThy glorious car, untaught to slaveIn harness: thus Quirinus flewOn Mars' wing'd steeds from Acheron's wave,When Juno spoke with Heaven's assent:“O Ilium, Ilium, wretched town!The judge accurst, incontinent,And stranger dame have dragg'd thee down.