What man, what hero (QUEMN VIRUM AUT HEROA)

     What man, what hero, Clio sweet,
       On harp or flute wilt thou proclaim?
     What god shall echo's voice repeat
       In mocking game
     To Helicon's sequester'd shade,
       Or Pindus, or on Haemus chill,
     Where once the hurrying woods obey'd
       The minstrel's will,
     Who, by his mother's gift of song,
       Held the fleet stream, the rapid breeze,
     And led with blandishment along
       The listening trees?
     Whom praise we first? the Sire on high,
       Who gods and men unerring guides,
     Who rules the sea, the earth, the sky,
       Their times and tides.
     No mightier birth may He beget;
       No like, no second has He known;
     Yet nearest to her sire's is set
       Minerva's throne.
     Nor yet shall Bacchus pass unsaid,
       Bold warrior, nor the virgin foe
     Of savage beasts, nor Phoebus, dread
       With deadly bow.
     Alcides too shall be my theme,
       And Leda's twins, for horses be,
     He famed for boxing; soon as gleam
       Their stars at sea,
     The lash'd spray trickles from the steep,
       The wind sinks down, the storm-cloud flies,
     The threatening billow on the deep
       Obedient lies.
     Shall now Quirinus take his turn,
       Or quiet Numa, or the state
     Proud Tarquin held, or Cato stern,
       By death made great?
     Ay, Regulus and the Scaurian name,
       And Paullus, who at Cannae gave
     His glorious soul, fair record claim,
       For all were brave.
     Thee, Furius, and Fabricius, thee,
       Rough Curius too, with untrimm'd beard,
     Your sires' transmitted poverty
        To conquest rear'd.
     Marcellus' fame, its up-growth hid,
       Springs like a tree; great Julius' light
     Shines, like the radiant moon amid
       The lamps of night.
     Dread Sire and Guardian of man's race,
       To Thee, O Jove, the Fates assign
     Our Caesar's charge; his power and place
       Be next to Thine.
     Whether the Parthian, threatening Rome,
       His eagles scatter to the wind,
     Or follow to their eastern home
       Cathay and Ind,
     Thy second let him rule below:
       Thy car shall shake the realms above;
     Thy vengeful bolts shall overthrow
       Each guilty grove.

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