AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S
RETURN FROM IRELAND
HE forward youth that would appear
Must now forsake his Muses dear,
Nor in the shadows sing
His numbers languishing.
'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 5
And oil the unused armour's rust:
Removing from the wall
The corslet of the hall.
So restless Cromwell could not cease
In the inglorious arts of peace, *o
But through adventurous war
Urged his active star.
And like the three-forked lightning, first
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,
Did through his own side 15
His fiery way divide.
For 'tis all one to courage high
The emulous or enemy ;
And with such to enclose
Is more than to oppose. 20
Then burning through the air he went
And palaces and temples rent:
And Caesar's head at last
Did through his laurels blast.
Tis madness to resist or blame 25
The force of angry heaven's flame:
And, if we would speak true,
Much to the man is due.
13