| 362 | 363 | 364 | 365 | 366 |
| 1 | 245 | 490 | 735 | 980 |
|
Thy infant breast a like affection show'd;
Still in my arms (an ever-pleasing load)
Or at my knee, by Phoenix wouldst thou stand;
No food was grateful but from Phoenix' hand.(211)
I pass my watchings o'er thy helpless years,
The tender labours, the compliant cares,
The gods (I thought) reversed their hard decree,
And Phoenix felt a father's joys in thee:
Thy growing virtues justified my cares,
And promised comfort to my silver hairs.
Now be thy rage, thy fatal rage, resign'd;
A cruel heart ill suits a manly mind:
The gods (the only great, and only wise)
Are moved by offerings, vows, and sacrifice;
Offending man their high compassion wins,
And daily prayers atone for daily sins.
Prayers are Jove's daughters, of celestial race,
Lame are their feet, and wrinkled is their face;
With humble mien, and with dejected eyes,
Constant they follow, where injustice flies.
Injustice swift, erect, and unconfined,
Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o'er mankind,
While Prayers, to heal her wrongs, move slow behind.
Who hears these daughters of almighty Jove,
For him they mediate to the throne above
When man rejects the humble suit they make,
364
Page
Quick Jump
|