Si quos Eois intonata fluctibus
Hyems ad hoc vertat mare:

Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum :
Non attagen Ionicus

Fucundior, quam lecta de pinguissimis
Oliva ramis arborum:

Aut herba lapathi prata amantis, et gravi
Malva salubres corpori;

Vel agna festis cæsa terminalibus:
Vel hædus ereptus lupo.

Has inter epulas, ut juvat pastas oves
Videre properanteis domum !
Videre fessos vomerem inversum boves
Collo trahentes languido!

Positosque vernas, ditis examen domus,
Circum renidentes lares!
Hæc ubi locutus fœnerator Alphius,
Jam jam futurus rusticus,
Omnem relegit idibus pecuniam;

Quærit calendis ponere.

HORACE, ODE I. LIB. IV.

AD VENEREM.

NTERMISSA Venus diu,

Rursus bella moves: parce precor, precor: Non sumqualis eram bona

Sub regno Cynara: desine dulcium

Mater sava Cupidinum,

Circa lustra decem flectere mollibus

Fam durum imperiis: abi

Quò blandæ juvenum te revocant preces.

Tempestivius in domo

Pauli purpureis ales oloribus,

If with bright floods, the winter troubled much,
Into our seas send any such :

The Ionian godwit, nor the ginny-hen
Could not go down my belly then

More sweet than olives, that new-gather'd be
From fattest branches of the tree:

Or the herb sorrel, that loves meadows still,
Or mallows loosing bodies ill:

Or at the feast of bounds, the lamb then slain,
Or kid forc'd from the wolf again,

Among these cates how glad the sight doth come
Of the fed flocks approaching home:

To view the weary oxen draw, with bare
And fainting necks, the turned share!

The wealthy household swarm of bondmen met,
And 'bout the steaming chimney set!

These thoughts when usurer Alphius, now about
To turn mere farmer, had spoke out;
'Gainst the ides, his moneys he gets in with pain,
At the calends puts all out again.

ODE I. BOOK IV.

TO VENUS.

ENUS, again thou mov'st a war

Long intermitted, pray thee, pray thee

spare:

I am not such, as in the reign Of the good Cynara I was: refrain Sour mother of sweet Loves, forbear

To bend a man now at his fiftieth year

Too stubborn for commands so slack:

Go where youth's soft entreaties call thee back. More timely hie thee to the house,

With thy bright swans, of Paulus Maximus :

Comissabere Maximi,

Si torrere jecur quæris idoneum. Namque et nobilis, et decens,

Et pro solicitis non tacitus reis. Et centum puer artium,

Latè signa feret militiæ tuæ. Et quandoque potentior

Largi muneribus riserit æmuli, Albanos prope te lacus

Ponet marmoream sub trabe cyprea. Illic plurima naribus

Duces tura, lyræque, et Berecynthia Delectabere tibia

Mistis carminibus non sine fistula.. Illic bis pueri die,

Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum Laudantes, pede candido

In morem Salium ter quatient humum.

Me nec fœmina nec puer

Fam, nec spes animi credula mutuı,

Nec certare juvat mero:

Nec vincire novis tempora floribus.

Sed cur, heu! Ligurine, cur

Manat rara meas lachryma per genas?

Cur facunda parum decoro

Inter verba cadit lingua silentio?

Nocturnis te ego somniis

Fam captum teneo, jam volucrem sequor:

Te per gramina Martii

Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubiles.

There jest and feast, make him thine host,
If a fit liver thou dost seek to toast;
For he's both noble, lovely, young,

And for the troubled client files his tongue :
Child of a hundred arts, and far

Will he display the ensigns of thy war.

And when he smiling finds his

grace

With thee 'bove all his rivals' gifts take place, He'll thee a marble statue make

Beneath a sweet-wood roof near Alba lake, There shall thy dainty nostril take

In many a gum, and for thy soft ears' sake Shall verse be set to harp and lute,

And Phrygian hau'boy, not without the flute. There twice a day in sacred lays,

The youths and tender maids shall sing thy praise : And in the Salian manner meet

Thrice 'bout thy altar with their ivory feet.

Me now, nor wench, nor wanton boy,

Delights, nor credulous hope of mutual joy ;

Nor care I now healths to propound,

Or with fresh flowers, to girt my temple round. But why, oh why, my Ligurine,

Flow my thin tears down these pale cheeks of mine? Or why my well-grac'd words among

With an uncomely silence fails my tongue? Hard-hearted, I dream every night

I hold thee fast! but fled hence, with the light, Whether in Mars his field thou be,

Or Tyber's winding streams, I follow thee.

Lyd.

Hor.

Lyd.

Hor.

Lyd.

ODE IX. LIB. III. AD LYDIAM.

DIALOGUS HORATII ET LYDIÆ.

Horatii.

ONEC gratus eram tibi,*

Nec quisquam potior brachia candida
Cervici juvenis dabat;
Persarum vigui rege beatior.

Donec non alia magis

Arsisti, neque erat Lydia post Chloën,
Multi Lydia nominis

Romana vigui clarior Ilia.

Me nunc Thressa Chloë regit,
Dulces docta modos, et cithara sciens:
Pro qua non metuam mori,
Si parcent animæ fata superstiti,

Me torret face mutua
Thurini Calais filius, Ornithi :
Pro quo his patiar mori,
Si parcent puero fata superstiti.

Quid si prisca redit Venus,
Diductosque jugo cogit aheneo?
Si flava excutitur Chloe

Rejectæque patet janua Lydia?

Quamquam sidere pulchrior
Ille est, tu levior cortice, et improbo

Iracundior Adria,

Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens.

Donec gratus, &c.] This little piece has always been a favourite. Granger, whose knowledge of our old writers did not extend much beyond their portraits, tells us that the first English version of this Ode was made by Herrick. The Hesperides were