University of Virginia Library

THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.

Ode I. To Venus.

Again new Tumults fire my Breast;
Ah spare me, Venus, let thy Suppliant rest;
Alas! I am not now the Swain,
I was in Cynara's good-natur'd Reign.
Fierce Mother of the Loves, no more
Attempt to bend me to thy charming Power,
Harden'd with Age; but swift repair
Where Youth invokes Thee with the soothing Prayer.
Would you enflame, with young Desire,
A Bosom worthy of thy purest Fire,
To Paulus guide, a welcome Guest,
Thy purple Swans, and revel in his Breast.
Of noble Birth, and graceful made,
Nor silent when Affliction claims his Aid,
The Youth, of hundred conquering Arts,
Shall wave thy Banners wide o'er female Hearts;
But if thy powerful Aid he prove,
And laughs at Rivals, who with Gifts make Love,
Thou in a citron Dome shalt stand,
Form'd by the Sculptor's animating Hand;
There shall th'abundant Incense flame,
And Thou transported quaff the rising Steam,
While all the Powers of Music join
To raise the Song with Harmony divine.
There shall the Youths and Virgins pay
To Thee their grateful Offerings twice a-day,
Like Salian Priests the Dance shall lead,
And many a mazy Measure round Thee tread.
For me, alas! those Joys are o'er,
For me the vernal Garland blooms no more;
No more the Feats of Wine I prove,
Nor the delusive Hopes of mutual Love.
But why, ah! Fair-one, still too dear,
Steals down my Cheek th'involuntary Tear?
Or why, thus faulter o'er my Tongue
The Words, which once harmonious pour'd along?
Swift through the Fields, and flowing Streams,
I follow Thee in visionary Dreams,
Now, now I seize, I clasp thy Charms,
And now you burst, ah cruel! from my Arms.

Ode II. To Antonius Julus.

He, who to Pindar's Height attempts to rise,
Like Icarus, with waxen Pinions tries
His pathless Way, and from the venturous Theme
Shall leave to azure Seas his falling Name.
As when a River, swollen by sudden Showers
O'er its known Banks, from some steep Mountain pours,
So in profound, unmeasurable Song
The deep-mouth'd Pindar, foaming, pours along.
Well He deserves Apollo's laurel'd Crown,
Whether new Words He rolls enraptur'd down
Impetuous through the Dithyrambic Strains,
Free from all Laws, but what Himself ordains;
Whether in lofty Tone sublime He sings
The deathless Gods, or God-descended Kings,
With Death deserv'd who smote the Centaurs dire,
And quench'd the fierce Chimæra's Breath of Fire;
Or whom th'Olympic Palm, victorious Prize!
Immortal crowns, and raises to the Skies,
Wrestler or Steed—with Honours that outlive
The mortal Fame, which thousand Statues give:
Or mourns some hapless Youth in plaintive Lay,
From his fond, weeping Bride, ah! torn away,
His Manners pure, his Courage, and his Name,
Snatch'd from the Grave, He vindicates to Fame.
Thus when the Theban Swan attempts the Skies,
A nobler Gale of Rapture bids Him rise;
But like a Bee, which through the breezy Groves,
With feeble Wing and idle Murmurs roves,
Sits on the Bloom, and with unceasing Toil
From Thyme sweet-breathing culls his flowery Spoil,
So I, weak Bard! round Tibur's lucid Spring,
Of humble Strain laborious Verses sing.
'Tis thine with deeper Hand to strike the Lyre,
For Cæsar's Glory shall his Bard inspire,
When He, with Laurel crown'd, the Meed of War,
Drags the fierce Gaul at his triumphal Car;
Than whom the Gods ne'er gave, or bounteous Fate
To human Kind a Gift more good or great,
Nor from their Treasures shall again unfold,
Though Time roll backward to his ancient Gold.
Be thine the festal Days, the City's Joys,
The Forum silenc'd from litigious Noise,
The public Games for Cæsar safe restor'd,
A Blessing oft with pious Vows implor'd.
Then, if my Voice can reach the glorious Theme,
Thus will I sing, amid the loud Acclaim—
Hail brightest Sun; in Rome's fair Annals shine,
Cæsar returns—eternal Praise be thine.
As the Procession awful moves along,
Let Shouts of Triumph fill our joyful Song;
Repeated Shouts of Triumph Rome shall raise,
And to the bounteous Gods our Altars blaze.
Of thy fair Herds twice ten shall grateful bleed,
While I, with pious Care, one Steerling feed:
Wean'd from the Dam, o'er Pastures large he roves,
And for my Vows his rising Youth he proves;
His Horns like Luna's bending Fires appear,
When the third Night she rises to her Sphere;
And, yellow all the rest, one Mark there glows
Full in his Front, and bright as Winter Snows.

Ode III. To Melpomene.

Ode IV. The Praises of Drusus.

Ode V. To Augustus.

Ode VII. To Torquatus.

Ode VIII. To Censorinus.

Ode IX. To Lollius.

Ode X. To Ligurinus.

O cruel still and vain of Beauty's Charms,
When wintry Age thy Insolence disarms;
When fall those Locks that on thy Shoulders play,
And Youth's gay Roses on thy Cheeks decay;
When that smooth Face shall Manhood's Roughness wear,
And in your Glass another Form appear,
Ah why! you'll say, do I now vainly burn,
Or with my Wishes, not my Youth return.

Ode XI. To Phyllis.

Ode XII. To Virgil.

Ode XIII. To Lyce.

Ode XIV. To Augustus.

Ode XV. To Augustus.