The Hardy Youth. III-2 (From The Odes Of Horace)

    The hardy youth, my friends, in bitter warfare
        To narrow poverty must learn to bend,
    And, for his spear a horseman to be dreaded,
        Courageous Parthians into flight must send.
    And he must try all dangerous adventures,
        His life out in the open he must pass;
    The warring tyrant's wife and growing daughter
        Him spying from their hostile walls, "Alas,"
    They sigh - for fear the royal husband,
        Unskilled in warlike arts, should dare attack
    This lion, fierce to touch, whom bloody anger
        Into the midst of slaughter has dragged back.
    'Tis sweet and fit to perish for one's country,
        Death follows fast upon the man who flees,
    Nor spares the coward backs of youth retreating,
        Nor saves them trembling on their timid knees,
    Valor, of shabby failure all unconscious,
        Gleams with untarnished honor where she stands,
    Assuming not, nor laying down her emblems,
        As now the gaping populace demands.
    Valor, when opening Heaven to those, who dying
        Deserve not death, by paths no other knows
    Points out the way, and still while she is soaring,
        Her scorn for crowds and humid earth she shows.
    And there's a sure reward for loyal silence.
        Him I'll forbid under my roof to sit
    Who has divulged the Elusinian mysteries,
        Nor in my fragile shallop shall he flit
    Often great Jupiter, when once neglected,
        The wicked near the innocent has put,
    But punishment to overtake the guilty
        Has rarely failed, though she is lame of foot