Thee, Furius, and Fabricius, thee,Rough Curius too, with untrimm'd beard,Your sires' transmitted povertyTo conquest rear'd.Marcellus' fame, its up-growth hid,Springs like a tree; great Julius' lightShines, like the radiant moon amidThe lamps of night.Dread Sire and Guardian of man's race,To thee, O Jove, the Fates assignOur Caesar's charge; his power and placeBe next to thine.Whether the Parthian, threatening Rome,His eagles scatter to the wind.Or follow to their eastern homeCathay and Ind,