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THE ODES OF HORACE.

BOOK III.

When Augustus had brought the civil wars to an end, B.C. 28,

he applied himself to the reformation of manners, and Horace probably wrote this and other Odes to promote the reforms of Augustus-perhaps by his desire, or by that of Maecenas. They were probably all written between B.C. 28 and 25, and should be read together.' The general purport of this Ode is an exhortation to moderate living and desires. The first stanza is generally regarded as an introduction to this Ode and to the five immediately following.

I HATE and drive away the crowd profane.
Be chary with your words. Behold, in strain
Not heard before, the Muses' hierophant,
Do I to maidens and to boys descant.
Of their own subjects sovereigns are the dread :
Of sovereigns' selves is Jove the sovereign head.
For triumph over giants famed, the God
Shakes universal being with his nod.
This man than that, plants trees in furrowed rows
Over more ground. To Campus Martius goes
One candidate of better pedigree :
Better in morals and repute than he
Contends a second, while a denser herd
Of client followers waits upon a third.
E'en so Necessity's impartial law
Assigns to all alike one lot to draw :
Whether low-placed or eminent in fame,
The urn capacious stirs their every name.
With drawn sword dangling o'er his impious head,
Him who is with Sicilian dainties fed

I.

Odi profanum volgus et arceo :
Favete linguis: carmina non prius
Audita Musarum sacerdos

Virginibus puerisque canto.
Regum timendorum in proprios greges,
Reges in ipsos imperium est Jovis,
Clari Giganteo triumpho,

Cuncta supercilio moventis.
Est ut viro vir latius ordinet
Arbusta sulcis: hic generosior
Descendat in Campum petitor :

Moribus hic meliorque fama
Contendat : illi turba clientium
Sit major. Aequa lege Necessitas
Sortitur insignes et imos:

Omne capax movet urna nomen. Districtus ensis cui super impia Cervice pendet, non Siculae dapes

Their savour sweet affects not, nor is he
Composed by bird or cithern's melody
To gentle sleep-sleep yet disdaining not
To dwell within the peasant's lowly cot,
Or on the shady river bank, or where
In Tempe, Zephyrs agitate the air.
Not Ocean's rage solicitude inspires
In him who than enough no more requires :
Not savage tempest when Arcturus sets,
Nor that which Haedus at his rise begets,
Not vineyards prostrate beneath scourging hail,
Not treacherous soil, not fruit-trees that bewail
Now flooding rain, now flaming stars, which blight
His meadows, and anon the winter's spite.
Fishes perceive their limits narrowing
Where some contractor and his workmen fling
Into the deep, stone basements, at command
Of magnate deigning not to dwell on land.
But a foreboding consciousness and fear
Scale with him the same eminence. Black care
Never the brazen-sheathèd trireme quits,
And ever at the horseman's crupper sits.
But, if to mitigate the soul's distress,
Nought avail Phrygian marbles, purple dress
Of more than starry gloss, Falernian juice,
Or scents distilled for Achaemenean use,
Why should I build myself a towering pile,
With envied columns in the modern style?
Why, in exchange for wealth's oppressive weight,
Desire my Sabine vale to abdicate?

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