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Nor do the gods, nor does myself desire-
Thou who my lot's chief stay and glory art?
Ah! if untimely fate should bear away
With thee one portion of my soul, how then,
Reft of its mate and crippled, shall delay
The other remnant? That day on us twain
Shall bring destruction. No perfidious oath
Was that I swore. Together we shall go,
Shall go when thou precedest: comrades both
Prepared to journey to the shades below.
Me never, or Chimaera breathing flame,
Or, if he rise again, shall rend from thee
The hundred-handed Gyas. Such the claim
Of potent justice, such the Fates' decree.
Whether the Scales or Scorpion malign
Had the ascendant at my natal hour,
Or, tyrant of Hesperian waves, the sign
Of Capricorn, had then the fiercer power,
The horoscopes of both of us agree
In mode incredible. The lustrous aid
Of Jove from barbarous Saturn rescued thee,
And eager destiny's fleet wings delayed,
When the dense audience in the theatre
Thrice, into cheers of joyous welcome broke.
Me, had the hand of Faunus, tutelar
Of men Mercurial, lightened not the stroke,
A tree, down-falling on my head, had slain.
Be thou, the victims due to dedicate
Mindful, and to erect the votive fane;
Myself a humble lamb will immolate.

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Obire, Maecenas, mearum

Grande decus columenque rerum. Ah! te meae si partem animae rapit Maturior vis, quid moror altera, Nec carus aeque, nec superstes

Integer ? Ille dies utramque Ducet ruinam. Non ego perfidum Dixi sacramentum : ibimus, ibimus, Utcunque praecedes, supremum

Carpere iter comites parati. Me nec Chimaerae spiritus igneae, Nec si resurgat centimanus Gyas, Divellet unquam: sic potenti

Justitiae placitumque Parcis. Seu Libra, seu me Scorpios adspicit Formidolosus, pars violentior Natalis horae, seu tyrannus

Hesperiae Capricornus undae;
Utrumque nostrum incredibili modo
Consentit astrum. Te Jovis impio

.
Tutela Saturno refulgens

Eripuit, volucrisque Fati
Tardavit alas, cum populus frequens
Laetum theatris ter crepuit sonum:
Me truncus illapsus cerebro

Sustulerat, nisi Faunus ictum Dextra levasset, Mercurialium Custos virorum. Reddere victimas, Aedemque votivam memento:

Nos humilem feriemus agnam.

K

This Ode is inscribed to no particular person, being indeed of

universal application.

THERE glitters not within my dwelling
Or ivory or gilded ceiling:
Upheld are no Hymettian beams
On columns carved in the extremes
Of Afric. Of no Attalus
Chance heir, do I his royal house
Possess : no lady-helps of mine
Lacedaemonian purples twine.
But virtue and a liberal flow
Of wit are mine, and me, though poor,
The wealthy court. For nothing more
The gods I weary.

Rich enow
With my one single Sabine plot,
To my great friend I clamour not
For larger gifts. Day thrusts on day,
New moons wane hastily away;
Yet, though the grave before you yawn,
You give out marble to be sawn:
Oblivious of the sepulchre,
Build houses: nay, as though you were
Not rich enough while cramped within
The coast-line, strive new sites to win
By throwing out the Baian shore
To where the sea noised heretofore.
Why, e'en your neighbours' land-marks move,
And rack your tenantry above

XVIII.

Non ebur, neque aureum

Mea renidet in domo lacunar: Non trabes Hymettiae

Premunt columnas ultima recisas Africa, neque Attali

Ignotus heres regiam occupavi: Nec Laconicas mihi

Trahunt honestae purpuras clientae. At fides et ingeni

Benigna vena est : pauperemque dives Me petit. Nihil supra

Deos lacesso, nec potentem amicum Largiora flagito,

Satis beatus unicis Sabinis. Truditur dies die,

Novaeque pergunt interire lunae. Tu secanda marmora

Locas sub ipsum funus, et sepulcri Immemor struis domos;

Marisque Baiis obstrepentis urges Summovere littora,

Parum locuples continente ripa. Quid, quod usque proximos

Revellis agri terminos, et ultra Limites clientium

The compact's terms ? Ousted from home,
The husband and the housewife roam,
And with them, in their bosoms borne,
Their household gods and babes forlorn.
Yet surelier does no hall await
Its wealthy lord, than that by fate
Assigned within insatiate
Orcus. Why farther stretch? Just earth
Alike for boys of royal birth
And paupers opens. Uncajoled
The ferryman of Hell by gold,
Crafty Prometheus never rowed
Again across. In his abode
He haughty Tantalus imprisons
And all his kindred. To the poor,
Discharged at length from labour dour,
Invoked or not invoked, he listens.

Whether this Ode be or be not a mere translation from the Greek,

it would almost certainly never have been written if Horace had not read and admired Greek poems of the same character. Still I am inclined to agree with Lord Lytton, that Mr. Macleane rather unduly disparages it.

Mid rocks remote 'twas mine Bacchus to see
Reciting chants (doubt not, posterity),

And listening nymphs, and pricked-up ears,
Those which goat-footed Satyr wears.

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