If Phrygian marbles soothe not pain,Nor star-bright purple's costliest wear,Nor vines of true Falernian strain,Nor Achaemenian spices rare,Why with rich gate and pillard rangeUpbuild new mansions, twice as high,Or why my Sabine vale exchangeFor more laborious luxury?To suffer hardness with good cheer,In sternest school of warfare bred,Our youth should learn; let steed and spearMake him one day the Parthian's dread;Cold skies, keen perils, brace his life.Methinks I see from rampired townSome battling tyrant's matron wife,Some maiden, look in terror down,—“Ah, my dear lord, untrain'd in war!O tempt not the infuriate moodOf that fell lion I see! from farHe plunges through a tide of blood!“