seu tibi Dictaeae placuerunt astra Coronae
seu magis aestivo sedes vicina Leoni,
seu sceptrum sublime Iovis seu Palladis ambis 210
aegida, seu fessi mulces suspiria Martis,
adsis perpetuum Latio votisque senatus
adnue, diva, tui. Stilicho tua saepius ornet
knows not how to repay benefits. Turn but the pages of history and thou wilt find how often it has faced war for an ally’s sake, how often bestowed as a gift on friendly monarchs lands won at the expense of Italian blood. Yet never were public thanks poured forth with such consent. For what prince has not sought with every blandishment to be called lord and father—titles which the amphitheatres echo back to thee day after day? Hail, consul, to thy new titles! Mars’ people calls thee lord and Brutus gainsays them not; what till now no terror could compel Rome’s free citizens to endure, they freely offered to their love for Stilicho. Wheresoever thy shining form is seen they haste to greet thee and raise to heaven thy name; nor is their wandering gaze ever sated with looking upon thee whom they love when thou enterest the Circus in thy shining robes of gold or art present at the games or, seated on thine ivory throne, dispensest justice in the forum or, with thine attendant lictors, mountest the rostrum thronged with the dense and surging crowd.
But what were the acclamations of the great, how unfeigned their rejoicings when Victory, soaring aloft with outspread wings, herself threw open her holy temple to the hero? Maiden that lovest the green bay, thou that art decked in robes of triumph, guardian of our empire, sole healer of our wounds, that makest our toils as though they were not, whether it pleaseth thee to dwell amid the stars of Ariadne’s crown or nearer to the fervid Lion, whether thou art seated on the lofty sceptre of Jove or Pallas’ shield or calmest the sighs of weary Mars, be ever present to Latium and grant, goddess, the prayers of thy senate. May Stilicho often crown thy portals