Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • The force, the forethought, were thine own,
  • Thine own the gods. The selfsame day
  • When, port and palace open thrown,
  • Low at thy footstool Egypt lay,
  • That selfsame day, three lustres gone,
  • Another victory to thine hand
  • Was given; another field was won
  • By grace of Caesar's high command.
  • Thee Spanish tribes, unused to yield,
  • Mede, Indian, Scyth that knows no home,
  • Acknowledge, sword at once and shield
  • Of Italy and queenly Rome.
  • Ister to thee, and Tanais fleet,
  • And Nile that will not tell his birth,
  • To thee the monstrous seas that beat
  • On Britain's coast, the end of earth,
  • To thee the proud Iberians bow,
  • And Gauls, that scorn from death to flee;
  • The fierce Sygambrian bends his brow,
  • And drops his arms to worship thee.