Mean bard, I try not lofty themes, while diffidence

forbids,

As does withal the Muse who o'er the peaceful lyre

presides,

That from illustrious Caesar's, or from thy praises, I Should through defect of genius rub off the brilliancy.

Who is there can, in fitting terms, the adamantine dress Wherewithal Mars is clothed, describe? or who Meriones, Blackened with Trojan dust? or who Tydidean Diomed, An equal match for gods supreme by help of Pallas made?

Convivial carouses, I, and those engagements sing Where angry girls-though with pared nails-with boys are combating;

These do I sing, alike when set from amorous fervours free,

And when rekindling with my own habitual levity.

There were two Munatii Planci, father and son, but as it is quite uncertain to which of them this ode was addressed, there would be little use in giving here biographical particulars of either.

OTHERS shall celebrated Rhodes or Mitylene praise,
Or Ephesus, or Corinth walled, and flanked by its two bays;
Or Thebes which Bacchus makes renowned, or Delphi

which Apollo;

And in Thessalian Tempe's praise may likewise others follow.

Conamur, tenues grandia: dum pudor,
Imbellisque lyrae Musa potens vetat

Laudes egregii Caesaris, et tuas
Culpa deterere ingenî.

Quis Martem tunica tectum adamantina
Digne scripserit? aut pulvere Troico
Nigrum Merionem? aut ope Palladis
Tydiden superis parem?

Nos convivia, nos proelia virginum
Sectis in juvenes unguibus acrium,
Cantamus vacui, sive quid urimur,
Non praeter solitum leves.

VII. AD MUNATIUM PLANCUM.

LAUDABUNT alii claram Rhodon, aut Mytilenen,

Aut Epheson bimarisve Corinthi

Moenia, vel Baccho Thebas vel Apolline Delphos

Insignes, aut Thessala Tempe.

There are whose one employment 'tis to celebrate the city
Of Pallas the immaculate with never-ending ditty,
And first of leaves culled anywhere, to rank the olive leaf.
In Juno's honour yet again are many who, in chief
Extol Mycenae opulent, or Argos rich in horse.
Me patient Lacedaemon struck not with so much of force,
Nor did Larissa's fertile plain so much my fancy take,
As does my residence beside Albunea's plashing lake,
And beside headlong Anio, and the Tiburtian grove,
And apple orchards wet with rills that through the
furrows rove.

As oftentimes the clear south wind sweeps from the darkened sky

The misty clouds, and storms of rain breeds not perpetually,

E'en so to wisely put an end in bowls of mellow wine To doleful thoughts and cares of life, be not thou, Plancus mine,

Ever forgetful, whether thou within the camp abide, Where standards glisten, or amidst the thickset shades

reside

Of thine own Tibur. Teucer, when from Salamis he fled, And from his father Telamon, still not the less, 'tis said, With coronet of poplar leaves his wine-bathed temples bound,

And thus addressed the saddened friends that still with him he found:

'O comrades and associates, go will we wheresoe'er Fortune, than parent kindlier, our devious course may steer,

Sunt quibus unum opus est, intactae Palladis urbem

Carmine perpetuo celebrare, et

Undique decerptam fronti praeponere olivam.

Plurimus, in Junonis honorem,

Aptum dicet equis Argos, ditesque Mycenas.
Me nec tam patiens Lacedaemon,

Nec tam Larissae percussit campus opimae,
Quam domus Albuneae resonantis,

Et praeceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis.

Albus ut obscuro deterget nubila caelo
Saepe Notus, neque parturit imbres
Perpetuos: sic tu sapiens finire memento

Tristitiam vitaeque labores

Molli, Plance, mero: seu te fulgentia signis

Castra tenent, seu densa tenebit

Tiburis umbra tui. Teucer Salamina patremque

Cùm fugeret, tamen uda Lyaeo

Tempora populea fertur vinxisse corona;

Sic tristes affatus amicos:

Quo nos cunque feret melior fortuna parente,
Ibimus, ô socii comitesque:

With Teucer augur, Teucer guide, despair ye not of

aught,

For thus with steadfast promise 'twas unerring Phoebus

taught:

A new-found island shall become a rival Salamis.

O gallant heroes, who with me have harder things

than this

Ofttimes endured, with generous wine dispel your

sorrows now:

To-morrow yet again will we far-stretching ocean plough.'

Commentators have vainly endeavoured to guess what particular youth is here represented under the name of Sybaris. No doubt there were plenty at Rome in Horace's time whom the cap offered by him would have very well fitted.

SAY, Lydia, pr'ythee, why 'tis

Your love to ruin hurries Sybaris!

Patient of dust and sun,

Wherefore does he the sultry drill-ground shun?

Wherefore, in martial guise,

Rides he not with his peers, nor jagged bit tries

On Gallic mouths? Why fears

To bathe in yellow Tiber? Why appears

More heedful to elude

The athlete's unguent than the viper's blood?

Why does he never now

Arms, black and blue by wearing armour, show?—