Page:Odes and Carmen Saeculare.djvu/75

 My prayers shall reach the avengers of all wrong;
 * No expiations shall the curse unbind.

Great though your haste, I would not task you long;
 * Thrice sprinkle dust, then scud before the wind.

OUR heart on Arab wealth is set, Good Iccius: you would try your steel On Saba's kings, unconquer'd yet,
 * And make the Mede your fetters feel.

Come, tell me what barbarian fair
 * Will serve you now, her bridegroom slain?

What page from court with essenced hair
 * Will tender you the bowl you drain,

Well skill'd to bend the Serian bow
 * His father carried? Who shall say

That rivers may not uphill flow,
 * And Tiber's self return one day,

If you would change Panætius' works,
 * That costly purchase, and the clan

Of Socrates, for shields and dirks,
 * Whom once we thought a saner man?