Explore "Translation from Horace" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, &c.]
The man of firm and noble soul / No factious clamours can control; / No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow / Can swerve him from his just intent: / Gales the warring waves which plough, / By Auster on the billows spent, / To curb the Adriatic main, / Would awe his fix'd, determined mind in vain.
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, / Hurtling his lightnings from above, / With all his terrors, there unfurl'd, / He would unmoved, unawed, behold.
The flames of an expiring world, / Again in crashing chaos roll'd, / In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd, / Might light his glorious funeral pile: / Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile.