The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719)

Mæcenas , born of Royal Blood,
My noblest Patron, sweetest Good!
There are who all their Pleasure place
In Chariots, and the rapid Race,
Who in Olympick Plains contend,
And joy to see the Dust ascend.
These, when they win the Field and Prize,
Grow into Gods, and reach the Skies.
Another courts the People's Voice,
And doats on Offices and Noise:
The Farmer from the Libyan Plains
Gathers the Product of his Pains:
No Promises of Wealth prevail
To make him hoist a doubtful Sail,
To trust the Winds, and try the Flood,
And leave the Fields his Father plow'd.

The Merchant, when by Storms beset,
Commends a Country Life and Seat:
But when the sudden Danger's o'er,
Refits his Bark, and tries once more,
And hates the Crime of being poor.
The Toper underneath the Shade,
Or near some Spring supinely laid,
There all the Evening cheers his Soul,
And crowns with Massic Wine the Bowl.
The Soldier loves to shine in Arms,
And hear the Trumpets shrill Alarms,
That bid him to the Camp repair,
The Hero's Sport and Matron's Fear.
Unmindful of his tender Spouse,
The Hunter roves through Frosts and Snows
He spreads his Toils, his Dogs pursue
The flying Boar, and Stag in view.

For me, a Poet's sacred Name,
And Ivy Crown, is all I claim;
In Pindus' breezy Shades I stray,
Where Nymphs and Satyrs dance and play;
Then all the Vulgar I despise,
And to immortal Glory rise,
If the indulgent Muses deign
To let me sing in Lyric Strain,
The Hero's Praise and Lover's Pain.
Rank me amidst that Sacred Quire,
Nor Men nor Gods can lift me higher.

ODE II. To Augustus.

I

Sure 'tis enough! give o'er, dread Sire!
To show'r thy stormy Hailstones down,
To smite the Capitol with Fire,
And rock with Thunderbolts the frighted Town.

II

Compass'd with Prodigies, we fear'd
That Pyrrha's Watry Age was near,
When Proteus drove his scaly Herd
Up to the Hills and dispossess'd the Deer:

III

When Fishes plaid among the Boughs,
And chac'd the fluttering Birds away:
When Doves took Wing, and frighted Does
Swam thro' the Woods and wander'd in the Sea.

IV

We saw, when o'er Etruria's Plain
Great Tiber from his Chanel stray'd,
Prophanely wasting Vesta's Fane,
And Monuments of Kings in Ruins laid;

V

Full of Revenge and fond Desire,
For Ilia's sake, he rais'd his Flood:
Whilst to the Left his Waves aspire,
Tho' Jove himself forbad th' uxorious God.

VI

Our Youth shall hear the sound of Arms,
To gall the Parthian Foe decreed;
Shall rouze to War and fresh Alarms,
And for Paternal Crimes our Children bleed.

VII

To what propitious Shrine or Pow'r
Shall the declining State repair?
How shall the Vestal Maids implore
Their angry Goddess with incessant Pray'r?

VIII

What Victim will great Jove admit,
T' avert a guilty Nation's Doom?
O Phœbus! vail thy Beams of Light,
And clad in Clouds, to our Assistance come.

IX

Or thou, fair Venus! bring thy Train
Of Loves and Smiles and Am'rous Mirth:
Or thou, great Mars, revive again
Thy long forgotten Sons, and Fav'rite Earth.

X

Let Streams of Blood and tedious War
Allay thy Thirst, thy Rage appease;
Tho' only Arms, the Sword and Spear,
And Troops in close Array thy Godhead please.

XI

Or dost thou, gentle Maia's Son!
With ready Help protect the Good?
Hast thou dissembled Youth put on,
Deigning to purge the Earth from Cæsar's Blood?

XII

Long may the Age enjoy thy Stay,
O Great Augustus! and no Crimes
Urge thy Return, or wing thy Way
Back to the Gods, and thy own Heav'n, betimes.

XIII

Long may'st thou here on Earth maintain
The Names of Father, Good, and Great,
Make the World happy in thy Reign,
And from invading Foes secure the State.

ODE III.

So may bright Venus glitter o'er the Deep,
And the fair Twins with double Lustre shine.
Whilst all the Winds within their Caverns sleep,
But only those which favour thy Design;

If thou, dear Ship! from Storms and Wracks defend,
And, as I wish and pray, betimes restore
Virgil, my better Half, my nearest Friend,
And land him safe on Athens longing Shore.

Hard was his Heart, inclos'd in Folds of Brass,
Who in a feeble Bark first boldly try'd
The Watry Path and Region of the Seas,
And adverse Winds and swelling Waves defy'd.

No raging Storms could shock his mighty Soul,
Nor craggy Rocks by forked Lightning split,
Though Northern Blasts along the Ocean howl,
To which the Adriatick Waves submit.

Death in no Form could ever move his Fear,
Who calmly with attentive Mind and Eyes
The Horrors of the Deep unmov'd could bear,
And view the Monsters of the low Abyss.

The Earth by Jove was parted from the Main,
Who gave each Element its proper place:
But haughty Man obstructs what Gods ordain,
Since impious Ships the sacred Bounds o'erpass.

No Pow'rs the Pride of Mortals can controul,
Prone to new Crimes, by strong Presumption driv'n;
With sacrilegious Hands Prometheus stole
Cœlestial Fire, and bore it down from Heav'n.

That fatal Present brought on Mortal Race
An Army of Diseases: Death began
With Vigour then to mend his halting Pace,
And found a more compendious Way to Man.

With Human Wings, not form'd by Nature's Aid,
Whose noblest Works vain Art would oft excel,
Wise Dædalus the starry Realms survey'd,
Whilst great Alcides forc'd the Gates of Hell.

Nothing's so high, but what Mankind will dare,
Push to excess of Ill, and Crimes unknown:
Scarce will our Pride the Gods themselves forbear,
Or suffer Jove to lay his Thunder down.

ODE IV. To Sestius.

The Winter melts away, the Spring takes place:
Warm Winds the Icy Streams release,
And Ships re-visit the neglected Seas.

The Cattel range afar, from Stalls let loose.
No more the Hearth with Ashes glows,
And snowy Meads their hoary Fleeces lose.

Venus in Pairs now calls again
Her Nymphs and Graces, lovely Train,
To dance by Moon-shine on the verdant Plain;

There hand in hand they ply their nimble Feet:
Whilst Vulcan and his Cyclops sweat,
And with loud Stroaks their massy Anvils beat.

Now is the proper time to deck the Head,
And Myrtle round the Temple spread,
Or Flow'rs new springing from the Frosty Bed.

Now is the time, the Swains have so decreed,
A bleating Lamb or tender Kid
To Faunus in the sacred Grove must bleed.

Intruding Death with equal Freedom greets
The low built Hutt, and stately Gates
Of lofty Palaces and Royal Seats.

Be wise, O Sestius! to prolong forbear,
Since Life is short, thy Hopes and Care:
The Fabled Shades and gloomy State draw near.

Thou must e'er long, without Redemption, go
To Pluto's dusky Realm below:
Thy Revels and thy drunken Joys forgoe.

Then Lycidas no longer shall be thine,
Whole Charms our Sex at present win,
For whom a thousand Virgins soon shall pine.

ODE V. To Pyrrha.

What well-shap'd Lover in the Rosie Shade,
With fragrant Limbs and sweet Address,
Shall to thy warm Embraces press,
In all thy loose Attire and wanton Airs display'd?

Bright Charmer, nicely clean tho' Plain!
How shall the Youth with sad Surprise,
See angry Storms and Tempests rise,
And all this Calm of Love break into fierce Disdain?

He doats, he raves with Bliss, whilst thou art kind;
Ah Wretch! undone by Am'rous Smiles,
Who sees thy Charms and not thy Wiles;
For thou art light as Air, inconstant as the Wind.

Learn from my Fate; by Tides and Whirlwinds tost,
I reach'd the Shore, half-drown'd in Brine;
My Tablet hangs on Neptune's Shrine,
To warn all other Sailors from the dangerous Coast.

ODE VI. To Agrippa.

Varius in never-dying Verse,
Equal to Homer's Vein,
Thy Deeds Agrippa, shall rehearse:
Thy Triumphs on the Land and Main.

Whilst I no warlike Subject chuse,
Too lofty for the Lyre:
Nor tell of Pelop's bloody House,
Ulysses' Toils, Achilles' Ire.

How should I raise my flagging Wing
Above the middle Skies,
Of Heroes or of Gods to sing?
Or how to Thee or Cæsar rise?

Who can Mars in Armour dress?
Who Merion's dusty Stains?
Who mighty Diomed express,
Meeting the Gods on Trojan Plains?

Let me describe, in humble Strains,
The Feats that Love has done,
The Battels, Revels, Joys and Pains,
Th' Amours of others and my own.

ODE VII. To Munatius Plancus.

Whilst some praise Corinth, Ephesus, or Rhodes,
Or Mitylene, or Thessalia's Plains,
Or Thebes, or Delphos, both the Seats of Gods,
For Bacchus there, and here Apollo reigns;

By others rich Mycene is preferr'd,
Or Argian Tow'rs, that veil'd to Juno's Sway,
Or those where Pallas rules, and every Bard
Bears his own Native Olive Crown away;

Not Sparta hits so much my Humour's Bent,
Nor fair Larissa in her proudest Dress,
As Anio rowling from his high Descent,
Or sweet Albunea's shady calm Recess.

Here Echo in the Walks repeats my Song:
Or when Tiburnus' gloomy Shades I trace,
The Streams in Murmurs gently glide along,
And greet the fragrant Orchats as they pass.

O Plancus, let the juicy Grape allay
The Toils of Life, and deep corroding Cares,
Whether in Tibur's pleasant Woods you stray,
Or in bright Armour follow Camps and Wars.

Sometimes the boist'rous South it self grows mild,
Forgets to rage in Blasts, and Storms, and Rain,
Clears the black Air, with Clouds and Horror fill'd,
Dispels the Gloom, and brings back Day again.

When Teucer from his Native Countrey fled,
To ease his Grief the sparkling Bowl he took:
Amidst the Feast, with Poplar crown'd his Head,
And thus his faithful drinking Friends bespoke.

We follow Fortune, Fortune is our Guide:
Let none despair, whilst Teucer leads you on;
Phœbus another Countrey will provide,
A second Salamis shall rise our own.

Courage, my Mates, in Dangers try'd before:
In generous Wine your Cares and Sorrows steep;
To Day be merry and carouse ashore,
To Morrow launch once more into the Deep.

ODE VIII. To Lydia.

Will you persist, fair Lydia! to love on,
On Sybaris exhaust your Charms?
Now by the Gods, he's ruin'd and undone:
For Fame no more his Courage warms;
He hates the dusty Field and scorching Sun,
Though once so well approv'd for Feats of Arms.

No more his Arms the manag'd Steed restrain,
Nor stem with nervous Strokes the Flood;
Suppled with Oil no more his Limbs sustain
The massy Armour's weighty Load:
His Hands the Jav'lin and the Quoit disdain,
Which none so far with manly Vigour throw'd.

He's spoil'd, he's lost to Glory and Renown,
Unmann'd, and made a Woman's Toy:
So Thetis heretofore disguis'd her Son;
Least the rough Habit of a Boy
Should call him forth, and urge the Hero on
Eager for War and Blood, and push the Fate of Troy.

ODE IX. To Thaliarchus.

See how Soracte's Mountain scarce sustains
Her hoary Load! what Frosts congeal the Woods,
Bind fast the waving Seas in Icy Chains,
And stop the rapid Current of the Floods!

Now let your Hearth with Piles of Billets glow,
The Sabine Casks their mellow Charge diffuse:
Dissolve the crystal Ice, melt down the Snow
With never-ceasing Fires and sparkling Juice.

Leave all the rest to Jove, at whose Command
The warring Winds their rough Contentions end,
No more the Waves in curling Ridges stand,
Nor Ash, nor Cypress to the Tempest bend.

Nought Future, no To-morrows Thee employ,
The present Hour is thine, and this improve,
Now in the Youth the Gift of Heaven enjoy,
In sportive Dance, in Revels, and in Love.

Remove far off Old-age and late Decay;
Now to the Walks and to the Ring repair:

At Night the lucky Moment calls away,
The gentle Whisper, and the yielding Fair.

In vain she flies to hide, but laughing shows
How you may find her out, and hold her fast:
And when you snatch some Favour, clasp it close,
Struggles a-while, but—lets it go at last.

ODE X. To Mercury.

Great God of Wit, from Atlas sprung,
For Eloquence renown'd;
The Musick of whose charming Tongue
Refin'd Mankind, and Science found;

Of Thee upon the Lyre I sing:
To Thee the Lyre owes its Birth,
Ambassador of Heav'n's great King,
Admir'd for Witty Thefts on Earth.

For his stol'n Cows Thee Maia's Son
With Threats attackt a Child;
But when he found his Quiver gone,
Pleas'd with the Cheat Apollo smil'd.

Old Priam, by thy Conduct led
To great Achilles' Tent,
Unseen unhurt to Ilium fled.
Through Grecian Fires and Guards he went.

Thou sway'st the Regions of the Blest,
The Ghosts thy Scepter know,
A Favourite by all confess't
The Gods above, and those below.

ODE XI. To Leuconoe.

Seek not to know, what fated End
The Gods for you or me intend,
Nor lend to Magick Arts an Ear,
But still against the worst prepare.
With Unconcern let Life glide on:
'Tis full of Toil, and quickly done.
See, Winter rages on the Sea,
And 'tis perhaps the Last you'll see.
Be wise, enjoy the present Hour:
Brisk Wine from smiling Goblets pour:
Improve the Moments whilst they last,
And snatch the Hours that fly so fast;
To Day, let Hope prevent Despair,
To Morrow is not worth your Care.

ODE XII. To Augustus.

What Man? What Hero wilt thou claim?
What God-head, Muse? For whom inspire
Thy warbling Pipe or Lyre,
While sportful Echo sounds thy dancing Name?

Whether in Pindus' Shades I rove,
Or near the Muses sacred Spring,
Or on cold Hæmus sing,
Whence tuneful Orpheus drew the list'ning Grove.

He knew to charm, or Earth, or Sky;
Soon as his Mother's Harp he strung,
The Trees with Ears were hung,
The Streams forgot to flow, the Winds to fly.

What nobler Theme than he, who steers
The World, obedient to his Sway,
Whom Gods and Men obey:
Who guides the Earth, and Sea, and fleeting Years?

He claims the first and highest Place:
Nothing so great, so wise, above,
NoneSecond is to Jove.
But Pallas next to him deserves our Praise.

I'll Bacchus' Fights exalt on high,
And fierce Diana's Sylvan Arts,
And great Apollo's Darts,
That from the fatal Bow unerring fly.

I'll sing Alcides and the Twins,
Renown'd on Horse-back or on Foot;
To push the Martial Rout:
Whose Star propitious to the Sailor shines;

The Clouds disperse when they arise,
The warring Winds are hush'd asleep,
Serenely smiles the Deep,
And smooth the Surface of old Ocean lyes.

Shall I hehearse wise Numa's State,
Or Romulus th' immortal Man:
Or Tarquin's haughty Reign
And pompous Life, or Cato's nobler Fate?

The Scauri lavish of their Blood,
Or brave Fabricius fond of Fame
Or Regulus, bright Name!
Or Paulus, ever glorious, though subdu'd?

A homely Cott and private State
Produc'd Camillus, fam'd in War,
In Rules of Life severe,
And Curius, in his manly Roughness great.

Marcellus, like a Tree, aspires
To Glory, free from Noise and Care:
Whilst the gay Julian Star,
Like the round Moon, out-shines the lesser Fires.

Lord of Mankind! the World's wide Sway,
And Cæsar's Life, are in thy Pow'r:
The Fates could give no more;
O truly great, whom Cæsar must obey!

Let Cæsar tame the distant East,
And chace with just vindictive Arms
Terror and dread Alarms,
When Parthian Foes the Roman Coasts infest.

Cæsar and Jove shall rule the World;
Jove on Olympus rides confest,
In Pow'r and Glory drest,
Whilst at polluted Groves his angry Bolts are hurl'd,

ODE XIII. To Lydia.

While Telephus's blooming Charms
My Lydia praises to the Skie,
His rosie Neck, and waxen Arms,
With Spleen I burst, with Passion die.

'Tis then I rave, look pale, and pine:
Then gentle Tears exhaling prove
The secret Fire that lurks within,
The secret wasting Fires of Love.

With Jealousie I rave and burn,
To see you show your livid Scars:
Your Lips with biting Kisses torn,
In Revels and nocturnal Wars.

Believe me, Lydia, charming Maid,
You'll never find those Lovers true,
Who could your balmy Lips invade,
Where Love distills his sweetest Dew.

Thrice happy they, whose Hearts are ty'd
In Love's mysterious Knot so close,
No Strife, no Quarrels e'er divide,
And only Death fell Death can loose.

ODE XIV.

Ill fated Ship! to quit the Shores,
And launch into the Main,
On a new Voyage, without Oars,
Thence never to return again!

The Winds have rent your Yard and Mast:
Your Sail and Tackle's gone;
A stormy Sea or sudden Blast
Will soon your foundring Keel o'erturn.

No more the Gods will calm the Floods;
Tho' thy Descent lay Claim
To ancient venerable Woods,
A boasted Birth, and useless Name.

The painted Forms that grace the Stern,
Can't ease the Sailors Minds;
Take heed, lest you too in your Turn
Give new Diversion to the Winds;

For you I wish, for you I fear,
Inur'd to endless Toils:
Those Shelves and narrow Straights beware,
That lye between the Grecian Isles.

ODE XV.

When Paris through the briny Tide
Convey'd the Spartan Bride,
The Winds were husht, the Sea was laid,
Whilst Nereus in prophetick Strains his future Doom display'd.

Unhappy Youth in such a Spouse,
Whom Greece in Arms pursues,
Sworn to regain the fatal Prey,
And interrupt thy Joys and Priam's ancient Sway!

The final Fate of Troy draws near;
How raging is the War!
What Troops, what Hurry, what Alarms!
Pallas assumes her Rage, her Chariot and her Arms.

In Venus and your well-comb'd Hair
Is all your Hope and Care,
Or on the tuneful Lyre to play,
And softest, sweetest Sounds to Virgins Ears convey.

In rich Alcoves you sport and laugh,
From Spears and Arrows safe:
There mighty Ajax cannot wound;
But soon your fragrant Hair shall sweep the dusty Ground.

Think on Ulysses sage and bold,
And Nestor wise though old;
Teucer and Sthenelus prepare
To shake your Town with Arms, your trembling Heart with Fear.

In Horses and in Chariots skill'd
They range the bloody Field;
Merion too shall give you Chase,
And Diomed the bravest stoutest of his Race.

He shall pursue and threaten Death:
You tir'd and out of Breath,
Shall pant and heave along the Shores,
As from the brinded Wolf the frighted Lambkin scours.

Achilles shall defer the Date
Of your untimely Fate:
But e'er ten rolling Years expire,
The lofty Walls of Troy shall blaze with Grecian Fire.

ODE XVI. To his Mistress.

Do with my Satyrs as you please,
O fairest of your Name!
Or drown them in the Rapid Seas,
Or set them on a Flame.

Passion's a Madness in the Breast,
No God can blow it higher,
When Bacchanals or Priests possess'd,
The Frantick Pow'rs inspire.

Passion through Fire and Sword runs on;
Can Storms and Tempest stand,
Though mighty Jove himself rush down,
With Thunder in his Hand.

Prometheus from the Lyon's Heart
Took this bright Eager Ray,
And made it of Mankind a Part,
And wrapt it in our Clay.

By Passion great Thyestes fell,
The Cause of all his Woe;
It brings tall Turrets down to Hell,
And lays proud Cities low.

Then prithee cease to Pout and Fret,
The horrid Crime I own:
When you suppress'd my Am'rous Heat,
It broke into Lampoon.

Then I was Mad, but now I'll try,
To make my Dear amends;
Away with all this Pish and Fie.
Let's Kiss, and so be Friends.

ODE XVII. To Tyndaris.

Faunus from fair Arcadia's Shore
Visits my homely Sylvan Seat:
He saves my Flocks, with Guardian Pow'r,
From pinching Cold and scorching Heat.

My Herds secure their Rambles take,
On Thyme and fragrant Herbs they browze,
Nor fear the angry hissing Snake,
Or Rav'ning Wolves, their mortal Foes.

Here, Fair one, you may safely stray,
Whilst the gay Plains their Sweets exhale,
And on your Pipe soft Sonnets play,
That Echo from the hollow Vale.

Their Poet to the Gods is dear,
My Piety and Muse they love,
Hence Plenty crowns my yellow Year,
And Blessings flow in Streams from Jove.

Here to some Valley you'll retire,
And sing the Hero and the Dame,
Inchanting Circe's guilty Fire,
Or Fair Penelope's chast Flame.

Here you may take a chearful Glass
Of harmless Wine, beneath the Shade;
Your Hours in sweet Retirement pass,
Of no rude drunken Sot afraid.

No Jealous Lover here shall dare,
With impious Hands, your Charms to press,
Nor pull the Garland from your Hair,
Nor spoil the Beauty of your Dress.

ODE XVIII. To Quintilius Varus.

On Tibur's Shore new Vineyards plant,
For 'tis the only Tree we want;
The Gods ne'er made a nobler Tree!
The Gods love drunken Souls like me.
They have a thousand Plagues in store
For sober Sots, whom Cares devour.
At Sight of Bacchus, Sorrows fly,
Spleen vanishes, and Vapours die.
Who in his Cups e'er made Complaint
Of pinching Penury and Want?
Or durst recite in rueful Strain
The Toils he bore the last Campaign?
When sparkling Bowls our Hours improve:
Then all our Talk is Wine and Love.
But still the Centaurs bloody War
Bids us of Strife and Blows take Care;
We know what Bacchus did in Thrace,
Nor will too far indulge the Glass.
Let Reason still keep in its Light,
And still distinguish Wrong from Right.
God of the Grape, I'll wisely use
Thy heav'nly Gifts, nor will disclose
Thy sacred Rites; do thou asswage
My burning Soul, and curb thy Rage:

Lest to new hateful Crimes I run:
Lest Vanity seize Reason's Throne,
And wretched I to open Day
The Secrets of the Night betray,
And my Heart transparent grow,
Clear as the Glass, that makes it so.

ODE XIX.

The wanton Queen of loose Desires
My Soul with Love re-kindled burns:
Bacchus foments the raging Fires,
And all the Libertine returns.

Fair Glycera, divinely bright,
With brilliant Eyes inflames my Heart,
Her Cheeks diffusing beamy Light,
Her wanton Airs, and winning Art.

Venus within my Bosom reigns,
Forsaking her lov'd Cyprian Grove:
She bids me cease my warlike Strains,
And sing no other God but Love.

With verdant Turf adorn the Shrine,
With fragrant Herbs her Altars bind:
Pour forth the choicest, richest Wine,
To make the Nymph and Goddess kind.

ODE XX. To Mæcenas.

Once, Dear Mæcenas! with your Friend
To common Sabine Wine descend;
'Twas cask'd that Day, Rome's Joy was heard
In loud Applause, when you appear'd.

The Vatican, and Tiber's Stream,
(Tiber from your Etruria came)
Did with your wafted Praise resound,
And Echo wanton'd with the Sound.

I know, your foaming Bowls run o'er
With all Campania's richest Store,
But my poor earthen Cups produce
No such luxurious costly Juice.

ODE XXI.

Sing, ye Nymphs, Diana's Praise,
Praise, ye Youths, Apollo's Name;
Fair Latona's Beauty raise,
That did the Thunderer inflame.

Sing the Goddess, who delights
In tall Woods and shady Groves,
Trips it on Arcadia's Heights,
And cooling Erymanthus loves.

Lovely Tempe claims your Song:
Delos is Apollo's Isle;
He the Vocal Lyre first strung,
He loves the Bow and Sylvan Toil.

You shall pay your daily Vows,
He shall make the State his Care;
Far from Rome upon our Foes
He pours out Famine, Plagues and War.

ODE XXII. To Aristius.

The Man with Virtue's Aid prepar'd,
In Virtue finds the surest Guard;
He needs nor Bows, nor Darts defence,
Safe in his spotless Innocence.

The virtuous Man securely stands
On Scythian Snows, or Libyan Sands;
Or to the farthest Indies goes,
Or where the fam'd Hydaspes flows.

For, as by Am'rous Thoughts betray'd,
Among the Woods I lately stray'd,
I met a Wolf; the Salvage knew
Unarm'd Integrity and flew.

Not warlike Daunia's Savage Coast
Could such a well-grown Monster boast:
No Beast so large infests the Plains
Where Lions breed, and Juba reigns.

Me to the Northern Pole convey,
Remote from Summer's cheerful Ray;
Where endless Frosts and Snows appear,
And Clouds and Cold bring round the Year:

Or place me near the burning Zone,
To fry beneath the scorching Sun;
Love and the Nymph shall ease my Toils,
Who softly Speaks, and sweetly Smiles.

ODE XXIII. To Chloe.

You shun me, Chloe, as a Fawn
To seek her Dam affrighted flies
Through every Mountain, Wood and Lawn,
And trembles at each rushing Breeze.

Her Breath alternate comes and goes,
If but a Lizard stir the Leaves:
And if the Zephyrs fan the Bows,
She starts and quivers, pants and heaves.

I follow not as Lions chace
Their fleeting Prey along the Plains:
Then leave your Mother's cold Embrace,
Since you are grown mature for Man's.

ODE XXIV. To Virgil.

The mournful Muse, the Voice and Lyre
To weep Quintilian's Death conspire;
Such was his Worth, our Loss is such,
We cannot Love too well, or Grieve too much.

And does then Death's eternal Chain
Quintilian, best of Men, detain?
Ah! when will Faith and Justice find
So true, so great, and so sincere a Mind?

The Good, like him, lament his Fall,
But thou, great Virgil, more than all;
Thy pious Wishes were in vain,
The Gods were deaf, Quintilian was a Man.

Could you, like vocal Orpheus, move
The dancing Trees and list'ning Grove,
Your Epick Art, your winning Strains
Could never raise his Lifeless cold remains.

He's with the Shades, the nimble God
Has touch'd him with his fatal Rod;
'Tis hard: but Patience will give Ease
In all those Ills which Prudence can't redress.

ODE XXV. To Lydia.

No Scourers now your Walks infest,
In rusty Silence mourns your Gate;
No Serenades disturb your Rest,
Or Rakes beneath your Windows wait.

Your Lovers from your Lodgings fly:
No more you hear the Mid-night Song:
Ah, can you Sleep, and let me Die,
Die with Cold thus all Night long?

In hopes of Cullies you may haunt
The Streets and Allies, wet and dry,
And only hear the Laughers taunt
And rally, as they pass you by;

Whilst all the Rage of hot Desire,
With which the madding Mares are stung,
Sets every batter'd Limb on Fire,
And Spleen with Satyr arms your Tongue:

Then how you curse the young and gay!
For only those the Fellows mind,
But send what's stale and in decay
To Lapland, with the first fair Wind.

ODE XXVI. To his Muse.

I doat on Poetry and Mirth;
Let Sorrow in the Ocean drown:
What is't to me who Rules the North?
Or if rude Cares surround a Throne?

O lovely Muse! O darling Maid!
Take all the fragrant Flow'rs that grow
Around the Springs, or in the Shade,
And weave a Crown for Lamia's Brow.

You, Goddess, all my Fame bestow;
Prepare your Harps, your Pipes, your Layes:
For all the Nine to Lamia owe
The sweetest Songs and highest Praise.

ODE XXVII.

With Cups for gentler Sports design'd
Let Salvages engage,
Our Bacchus is to Peace inclin'd,
And not to brutish Rage.

Who can rough Arms, and Battels bear,
With Wine, and drinking Joys?
Then let each Toper keep his Chair,
And cease this horrid Noise.

If you would have me take my Glass,
Let yonder Youth impart
His present Pains, and name the Lass
That now inflames his Heart.

If he denies me my Request,
This Moment I am gone:
Whatever Nymph disturbs his Rest,
He need not blush to own.

Come tell it softly in my Ear:
The Secret's safe with me.—
Alas, then do you doat on her?
How wretched must you be!

No winged Force, no heav'nly Pow'r,
No God nor Magick Art,
When such a Monster would devour,
Can save your bleeding Heart.

ODE XXVIII.

Close by the Shore a Span of Earth contains,
O mighty Man of Art! thy last thy great Remains;
Whose penetrating Mind and skilful Hands
Measur'd the Heav'ns and Earth, and number'd all the Sands.

Vain is thy Learning now: Thy active Soul
No more shall trace the Stars, or travel to the Pole.
Repine not: Tantalus is gone before,
Who boasted of the Gods his Guests, and many Heroes more.

Tithonus is a Ghost, long since forgot!
And Minos, whom the Gods their secret Councils taught.
Pythagoras, in Nature deeply skill'd,
Though in the Trojan War he wore a massy Shield,

And only then his Flesh and Figure lost,
Is sent a second time to Pluto's gloomy Coast.
The Race of Mortals must to Death submit,
And tread the darksom Paths of everlasting Night.

Some in the Field with mangling Wounds are slain;
And others buried low in the devouring Main.
No human Arts the cruel Fates beguile,
But Old and Young in heaps crowd to the mournful Pile.

By luckless Stars and raging Tempests toss'd,
On the Illyrian Shore untimely I was lost.
O courteous Sailor! see me gently laid,
And heap the rolling Sands on my devoted Head;

So may thy Vessel scape the Storms and Floods,
And ev'ry Tempest spend its Fury on the Woods:
So may great Jove and Neptune crown thy Pains
With due Returns of Wealth, and never-ceasing Gains.

If you reject my Pray'r, in future Times
Your wretched Heir shall mourn for old Paternal Crimes;
You too when dead may suffer in your turn,
Expos'd upon the Shore, a Coarse without an Urn.

The Pow'rs above shall listen to my Vows,
Whilst Vengeance from the Gods your guilty Head pursues;
Then haste, and gently lay me in the Dust,
And after hoist your Sails, and seek a Foreign Coast.

ODE XXIX. To Iccius.

Arabian Wealth and warlike Spoils
Are all your future Hope and Care,
Since you are bent on Martial Toils,
And for the haughty Mede new Chains prepare.

What Captive Wives of Heroes slain
Obsequious shall attend your State?
What noble Youth the next Campaign
Shall fill your Wine, and at your Table wait?

The rapid Streams with monstrous Force
May upwards climb the Mountain's Brow,
Ascending Tiber change its Course,
And backwards from the frighted Ocean flow;

Since you your New-made Armour take,
And tho' you promis'd better things,
Your Study and your Books forsake,
To follow bloody Wars and fighting Kings.

ODE XXX. To Venus.

Queen of Love! forsake a while
Paphos, and the Cyprian Isle;
To a brighter Shrine repair:
Glycera attends you there.

Let each Nymph and every Grace
And young Cupid fill the Place,
Youth by Beauty made polite,
With the nimble God of Wit.

ODE XXXI. To Apollo.

Son of Jove! To thee I pour
My sacred Wine and solemn Vows;
Give me not the yellow Store
Of Corn that on Sardinia grows;

Nor the Wealth that India yields,
Nor Herds that on Calabria stray,
Or the fertile Farms and Fields,
Where Liris eats his silent way.

They who large Possessions boast,
May revel underneath the Vine;
They who trade to some far Coast,
May fill the Bowl with gen'rous Wine.

Let the Gods the Merchant bless,
And give him three Returns a Year:
Herbs and Roots and Olives please
My Taste, as well as nobler Cheer.

Give me Strength and Pow'r to use
The Sweets of Life that glides away;
Let me still enjoy my Muse,
Nor ever doat whilst I decay.

ODE XXXII. To his Harp.

Charming Shell! If in the Shade
You and I have ever play'd
Songs that may outlast a Year,
Now begin a Roman Air.

Thee with Martial Ardor fir'd
Great Alcæus first inspir'd:
Thee in Camps and on the Main
Still he taught the Vocal Strain.

Bacchus ever gay and young,
Venus and her Boy he sung;
Lycus was his chiefest Care,
Arm'd with jetty Eyes and Hair.

Joy of Phœbus, lovely Lyre!
Thee the feasting Gods admire:
Thee I greet, thy Pow'rs controul
All my Cares, and charm my Soul.

ODE XXXIII. To Albius Tibullus.

Be not griev'd, my Friend! to find
A Woman Faithless and Unkind;
Nor in soft Elegy complain,
Because a Rival gives you Pain.

Fair Lycoris doats, you see,
On Cyrus; He on Pholoe:
But Wolves and Kids shall sooner join,
Than such a Rake That Beauty win.

Fair and Ugly, False and True,
All to great Venus' Yoke must bow:
Such Pleasure in our Pains she takes,
And laughs to see what Sport she makes.

I my self, tho' once belov'd,
Forsook a First-rate Nymph, and rov'd
To give a Fickle Jilt the Chace,
Unconstant as the Winds and Seas.

ODE XXXIV.

Once I contemn'd the Gods, their Pow'r deny'd,
When frantick Epicurus was my Guide;
But now that vain Philosophy I scorn:
At once to common Sense and Virtue I return.

Jove spoke the loud Conviction from on high,
And hurl'd his Bolts and Chariot through the Sky;
Compass'd with Glory and with Flames he rode,
And all the Subject World confess'd the Sov'reign God.

The Earth and Ocean felt the dreadful Blow,
That shook the gloomy Realms of Hell below,
The lofty Hills beneath his Thunders bow'd,
And venerable Atlas trembled as he stood,

The Heav'nly Pow'rs can raise or can depress,
Or overturn us Mortals as they please.
Fortune to Day will mount him to a Crown,
And the next Moment pull her new-made Fav'rite down.

ODE XXXV. To Fortune.

Dread Queen! whom num'rous Slaves adore,
Whose strong Almighty Arm can save,
And raise the prostrate Wretch to Wealth and Pow'r,
Or change a stately Triumph to a gloomy Grave:

The haughty Rich and humble Poor
Thy Empire own, thy Aid implore;
The Sailor and the Farmer bend to thee,
They who invert the Glebe, and they who plow the Sea.

The Cities, Kingdoms, Nations fear,
The barb'rous World, and Potent Rome;
Thee haughty Dames, and Mother Queens revere,
And purpled Tyranny from thee expects its Doom.

Thou in thy Anger can'st o'erthrow,
And lay the stately Column low:
Or push the mad tumultuous Rabble on,
To shake a well-built State, or overturn a Throne.

Where-e'er thou lead'st thy awful Train,
Necessity still stalks before:
Whose brazen Hands the Hook and Nails retain,
The Plummet and the Wedge, the Emblems of her Pow'r.

Fidelity in white Array,
And eager Hope still guard thy Way;
Though thou take Wing, and change thy fickle Mind,
Fidelity stands firm, and always stays behind.

The faithless Mob and perjur'd Whore
Retire, as soon as thou art flown;
Not one true Friend stays to assist the Poor:
All shun the needy Wretch, when his last Cask is run.

O mighty Queen! propitious smile
On Cæsar, bound for Britain's Isle:
And make those gallant Roman Troops thy Care,
Who to the distant East their Conqu'ring Banners bear.

When shall we have our fill of Blood?
Or when enjoy the Sweets of Peace?
A vile degen'rate Age, averse to Good!
When will our publick Crimes, and sad Disorders cease?

What Pow'r or Vengeance have we fear'd?
What God, or Shrine, or Altar spar'd?
Be kind, great Goddess! save our sinking State,
And turn thy Rage and Arms upon the Men we hate.

ODE XXXVI.

With Sacrifice and Songs attone
The Gods, who did my Wishes crown,
And to my Arms brought back again
My Numida, just come from Spain;
To him his Friends their Joys impart:
But only Lamia fills his Heart;
They ever faithful, ever true,
Together liv'd, together grew.
With a white Mark appoint the Day
For Drinking, Mirth, and am'rous Play;

In foaming Goblets pour the Wine,
And let the active Dance begin.
Fair Damalis shall baulk her Glass,
To fill her Numida's Embrace.
The Rose, the Lilly, and each Flow'r
Shall join to dress the fragrant Bow'r:
Fair Damalis all others scorns,
And only for her Hero burns:
She twines her Arms around his Waste,
As Ivy close, as Ivy fast.

ODE XXXVII.

Now let the Bowl with Wine and Mirth be crown'd,
Let antick Measures beat the Ground:
In costly Robes let every Shrine be drest,
And Luxury and Pomp adorn the plenteous Feast.

'Twas Criminal but lately to produce
The hoarded Cask and potent Juice,
When Egypt's Queen, with frantick Pride o'ercome,
Menac'd the lofty Walls and warlike Pow'rs of Rome.

Compass'd with Eunuchs, an inglorious Guard,
Above her Sex her Hopes she reer'd:
And drunk with Fortune's Smiles rush'd on,
At once to make the Empire of the World her own.

But Cæsar taught her Soul to fear at last,
When the mad Amazon he chac'd,
As in her Bark from Italy she fled,
And saw her blazing Fleet with hostile Flames bespread.

So the swift Pidgeon skims the liquid Air,
Chac'd by the Hawk; just so the Hare
Through snowy Fields the Thracian Hunter flies,
As Cæsar nimbly row'd to win the Royal Prize.

She, more than Woman, haughtily disdains
To wear a Roman Victor's Chains;
She scorn'd the Sword, and dar'd her Fate to meet;
Nor sought in Coasts remote, a mean, yet safe Retreat.

With Looks serene her Palace she survey'd,
Prostrate in Dust, in Ruins lay'd:
Then snatch'd the hungry Aspects to her Breast,
Whilst on her vital Blood the bloated Monsters feast.

Daring she dy'd, but knew not how to fear,
Nor could with tame Submission bear
Beneath the Conqu'ror's proud Wheels to bow,
Or, like an abject Slave, grace the Triumphal Show

ODE XXXVIII.

Persian Pomp and costly State,
Garlands and Perfumes I hate;
Be not too curious to compose
The flow'ry Sweets and fragrant Rose.

Why should you and I be fine,
Underneath a scanty Vine?
Let Myrtle Wreaths my Brows adorn,
All other Crowns but that I scorn.

The End of the first Book of ODES.

University of Virginia Library

BOOK I.

ODE I. To Mæcenas.