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George Gordon Byron - Translation From Horace
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[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, &c.]

The man of firm and noble soul
No factious clamours can control;
No threat`ning tyrant`s darkling brow
   Can swerve him from his just intent:
Gales the warring waves which plough,
   By Auster on the billows spent,
To curb the Adriatic main,
Would awe his fix`d, determined mind in vain.
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,
Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors, there unfurl`d,
   He would unmoved, unawed, behold.
The flames of an expiring world,
   Again in crashing chaos roll`d,
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl`d,
Might light his glorious funeral pile:
Still dauntless `midst the wreck of earth he`d smile
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