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Choice prize,-and migratory crane.
Who does not, leading such a life,
Set Love's anxiety at naught?
But if withal, he have a wife
Who for the house and bairns takes thought,-
A faithful Sabine mate, suppose,
Or one embrowned by Daunian sun,-
Who, on the fire, dry billets throws
To cheer him, when, the day's work done,
He comes in tired, and milks the kine,
First penning them in wattled ward,
And, drawing forth last season's wine,
With unbought viands decks the board:
Not oysters, then, from Lucrine meer,
Nor turbot, no, nor sturgeons rare,
If Euxine storms drive any here,
Should I regard as daintier fare.
Not Afric's bird would then, into
My stomach glide more gratefully,
Nor Lydian partridge, than what due
Of fruit, fat olive-trees supply,
Or sorrel, meadow-loving weed,
Or wholesome mallows, or the lamb
Ordained at Terminal feast to bleed,
Of wolf-saved kid. Ah! pleased I am
At such repasts to sit, and see
The pastured sheep returning home,
And weary steers, that o'er the lea,
Dragging the inverted ploughshare, come,
While the farm-servants, at the board
Pavidumque leporem, et advenam laqueo gruem,
Jucunda captat praemia.
Quis non malarum, quas amor curas habet,
Haec inter obliviscitur?!
Quodsi pudica mulier in partem juvet
Domum, atque dulces liberos,
(Sabina qualis, aut perusta solibus
Pernicis uxor Apuli,)
Sacrum vetustis exstruat lignis focum
Lassi sub adventum viri :
Claudensque textis cratibus laetum pecus,
Distenta siccet ubera;
Et horna dulci vina promens dolio,
Dapes inemptas apparet;
Non me Lucrina juverint conchylia,
Magisve rhombus, aut scari,
Si quos Eois intonata fluctibus
Hiems ad hoc vertat mare:
Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum,
Non attagen Ionicus
Jucundior, quam lecta de pinguissimis
Oliva ramis arborum,
Aut herba lapathi prata amantis, et gravi
Malvae salubres corpori,
Vel agna festis caesa Terminalibus,
Vel haedus ereptus lupo.
Has inter epulas, ut juvat pastas oves
Videre properantes domum!
Videre fessos vomerem inversum boves
Collo trahentes languido,
In order placed, and just degrees,
Around the fire, below their lord
Are clustered like a swarm of bees.
After old Alphius thus had spoken,
In language seeming to betoken
A settled purpose to retire
From business, and turn country squire,
At Ides he called in all he'd lent,
But before Calends came and went,
Whatever cash the churl possessed
Was out again at interest.
These verses would seem to have been written during a fit of in
digestion brought on by eating garlic.
With sacrilegious hand, whoever
His father's aged neck shall sever,
Let him eat garlic, more by far
Noxious than hemlock potions are.
What tough insides those reapers have !
What poison is there so can rave
Beneath my breast? Has viper's blood
So tricked me, with the pot-herbs stewed ?
Or has Canidia pawed the food?
Medea, when admiring most
Of the whole Argonautic host
Their handsome chief, with this besmeared
Jason, thereby made more prepared
Positosque vernas, ditis examen domus,
Haec ubi, locutus fenerator Alphius,
Jam jam futurus rusticus, Omnem redegit Idibus pecuniam;
Quaerit Kalendis ponere.
PARENTIS olim si quis impia manu
Senile guttur fregerit,
Edit cicutis allium nocentius.
O dura messorum ilia !
Quid hoc veneni saevit in praecordiis ?
Num viperinus his cruor Incoctus herbis me, fefellit? An malas
Canidia tractavit dapes? Ut Argonautas praeter omnes candidum
Medea mirata est ducem, Ignota tauris illigaturum juga,
Perunxit hoc Iasonem:
The necks of untamed bulls to yoke.
Gifts smeared with this she took to cloak
Her vengeance upon Jason's bride,
Ere on winged serpent thence she hied.
So heavily sidereal haze
Never on parched Apulia weighs.
More furiously his consort's vest
Burned not on stout Alcides' breast.
If ever you are droll enough
Maecenas, to desire such stuff,
Well, then I pray, the girl you love
Back, with her hand, your lips may shove,
And to the couch's edge remove.
This, like the ninth Ode of the first Book, is a convivial song written
A FEARFUL storm contracts the sky, and showers of
rain and snow Bring down aerial Jupiter : now ocean, forests now, Roar with the Thracian north wind: let us, my com
rades, seize The weather's opportunity, and, while still firm our knees, And it becomes us, let old age smoothen his wrinkled
brow. Wine pressed when my Torquatus held the consulship
do thou Produce: leave talking of aught else: perchance the deity Will with good turn resettle things. 'Tis pleasant now