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,Thy second let him rule belowThy car shall shake the realms above;Thy vengeful bolts shall overthrowEach guilty grove.Telephus—you praise him still,His waxen arms, his rosy-tinted neck;Ah! and all the while I thrillWith jealous pangs I cannot, cannot check