Who fears the Parthian or the Scythian horde,Or the rank growth that German forests yield,While Caesar lives? who trembles at the swordThe fierce Iberians wield?In his own hills each labours down the day,Teaching the vine to clasp the widow'd tree:Then to his cups again, where, feasting gay,He hails his god in thee.A household power, adored with prayers and wine,Thou reign'st auspicious o'er his hour of ease:Thus grateful Greece her Castor made divine,And her great Hercules.Ah! be it thine long holydays to giveTo thy Hesperia! thus, dear chief, we prayAt sober sunrise; thus at mellow eve,When ocean hides the day.Thou who didst make thy vengeful mightTo Niobe and Tityos known,And Peleus' son, when Troy's tall heightWas nigh his own,