Let Tragedy's stern muse be muteAwhile; and when your order'd pageHas told Rome's tale, that buskin'd footAgain shall mount the Attic stage,Pollio, the pale defendant's shield,In deep debate the senate's stay,The hero of Dalmatic fieldBy Triumph crown'd with deathless bay.E'en now with trumpet's threatening blareYou thrill our ears; the clarion brays;The lightnings of the armour scareThe steed, and daunt the rider's gaze.Methinks I hear of leaders proudWith no uncomely dust distain'd,And all the world by conquest bow'd,And only Cato's soul unchain'd.Yes, Juno and the powers on highThat left their Afric to its doom,Have led the victors' progenyAs victims to Jugurtha's tomb.