That long year o'er, the envious southern blastStill bars him from his home:Weeping and praying to the shore she clings,Nor ever thence her straining eyesight turns:So, smit by loyal passion's restless stings,Rome for her Caesar yearns.In safety range the cattle o'er the mead:Sweet Peace, soft Plenty, swell the golden grain:O'er unvex'd seas the sailors blithely speed:Fair Honour shrinks from stain:No guilty lusts the shrine of home defile:Cleansed is the hand without, the heart within:The father's features in his children smileSwift vengeance follows sin.Who fears the Parthian or the Scythian horde,Or the rank growth that German forests yield,While Caesar lives? who trembles at the swordThe fierce Iberians wield?In his own hills each labours down the day,Teaching the vine to clasp the widow'd tree: