A hundred gods her sweeping train supply; Her offspring all, and all command the sky. “Now fix your sight, and stand intent, to see Your Roman race, and Julian progeny. The mighty Caesar waits his vital hour, Impatient for the world, and grasps his promis’d pow’r. But next behold the youth of form divine, Caesar himself, exalted in his line; Augustus, promis’d oft, and long foretold, Sent to the realm that Saturn rul’d of old; Born to restore a better age of gold. Afric and India shall his pow’r obey; He shall extend his propagated sway Beyond the solar year, without the starry way, Where Atlas turns the rolling heav’ns around, And his broad shoulders with their lights are crown’d. At his foreseen approach, already quake The Caspian kingdoms and Maeotian lake: Their seers behold the tempest from afar, And threat’ning oracles denounce the war. Nile hears him knocking at his sev’nfold gates, And seeks his hidden spring, and fears his nephew’s fates. Nor Hercules more lands or labours knew, Not tho’ the brazen-footed hind he slew, Freed Erymanthus from the foaming boar, And dipp’d his arrows in Lernaean gore; Nor Bacchus, turning from his Indian war, By tigers drawn triumphant in his car, From Nisus’ top descending on the plains, With curling vines around his purple reins. And doubt we yet thro’ dangers to pursue The paths of honour, and a crown in view? But what’s the man, who from afar appears? His head with olive crown’d, his hand a censer bears, His hoary beard and holy vestments bring His lost idea back: I know the Roman king. He shall to peaceful Rome new laws ordain, Call’d from his mean abode a scepter to sustain. Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds, An active prince, and prone to martial deeds. He shall his troops for fighting fields prepare, Disus’d to toils, and triumphs of the war. By dint of sword his crown he shall increase, And scour his armour from the rust of peace. Whom Ancus follows, with a fawning air, But vain within, and proudly popular. Next view the Tarquin kings, th’ avenging sword Of Brutus, justly drawn, and Rome restor’d. He first renews the rods and ax severe, And gives the consuls royal robes to wear. His sons, who seek the tyrant to sustain, And long for arbitrary lords again, With ignominy scourg’d, in open sight, He dooms to death deserv’d, asserting public right. Unhappy man, to break the pious laws Of nature, pleading in his children’s cause! Howe’er the doubtful fact is understood, ’Tis love of honour, and his country’s good: The consul, not the father, sheds the blood. Behold Torquatus the same track pursue; And, next, the two devoted Decii view: