[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, &c.] <br /> <br />The man of firm and noble soul <br />No factious clamours can control; <br />No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow <br />Can swerve him from his just intent: <br />Gales the warring waves which plough, <br />By Auster on the billows spent, <br />To curb the Adriatic main, <br />Would awe his fix'd, determined mind in vain. <br />Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, <br />Hurtling his lightnings from above, <br />With all his terrors, there unfurl'd, <br />He would unmoved, unawed, behold. <br />The flames of an expiring world, <br />Again in crashing chaos roll'd, <br />In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd, <br />Might light his glorious funeral pile: <br />Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/translation-from-horace/
