But they who never from the right have strayed-- Who as the citizen the stranger aid-- They and their cities flourish: genial peace Dwells in their borders, and their youth increase; Nor Jove, whose radiant eyes behold afar, Hangs forth in heaven the signs of grievous war; Nor scath, nor famine; on the righteous prey-- Peace crowns the night, and plenty cheers the day. Rich are their mountain oaks: the topmost tree The acorns fill, its trunk the hiving bee; Their sheep with fleeces pant; their women's race Reflect both parents in the infant face: Still flourish they, nor tempt with ships the main; The fruits of earth are poured from every plain. But o'er the wicked race, to whom belong The thought of evil and the deed of wrong, Saturnian Jove, of wide-beholding eyes, Bids the dark signs of retribution rise; And oft the deeds of one destructive fall-- The crimes of one--are visited on all. The god sends down his angry plagues from high-- Famine and pestilence--in heaps they die! Again, in vengeance of his wrath, he falls On their great hosts, and breaks their tottering walls; Scatters their ships of war; and where the sea Heaves high its mountain billows, there is he! Ponder, O Judges! in your inmost thought The retribution by his vengeance wrought. Invisible, the gods are ever nigh, Pass through the midst, and bend th' all-seeing eye. The man who grinds the poor, who wrests the right, Aweless of Heaven, stands naked to their sight: For thrice ten thousand holy spirits rove This breathing world, the delegates of Jove; Guardians of man, their glance alike surveys The upright judgments and the unrighteous ways. A virgin pure is Justice, and her birth August from him who rules the heavens and earth-- A creature glorious to the gods on high, Whose mansion is yon everlasting sky. Driven by despiteful wrong she takes her seat, In lowly grief, at Jove's eternal feet. There of the soul unjust her plaints ascend: So rue the nations when their kings offend-- When, uttering wiles and brooding thoughts of ill, They bend the laws, and wrest them to their will. Oh! gorged with gold, ye kingly judges, hear! Make straight your paths, your crooked judgments fear, That the foul record may no more be seen-- Erased, forgot, as though it ne'er had been. --Trans. by ELTON. OATHS.