XVI. O MATRE pulchra filia pulchrior, Sive mari libet Hadriano. Non Dindymene, non adytis quatit Fertur Prometheus addere principi Vim stomacho apposuisse nostro. Irae Thyesten exitio gravi Fervor, et in celeres iambos Sending me furious: but my aim is now To change to sweet from bitter, so that thou, Past gibes recant, and former love restore. A treatise was once written to prove that the Tyndaris of this Ode was a freedwoman of Rhaetemalces, king of Thrace, and also identical with the person whom Horace elsewhere calls Cressa Chloë, Sidonia Chloë, and Venus Marina. This, however, need not prevent the judicious reader from painting a portrait of Tyndaris according to his own taste and fancy, FLEET Faunus will often Lyaeus desert For pleasant Lucretilis changing; and there The wandering wives of a foul-smelling mate, For their kidlings to fear. There is safety around, And the rocks of Ustica's smooth shelving incline. The gods are my patrons; the gods have regard Misit furentem: nunc ego mitibus Fias recantatis amica Opprobriis, animumque reddas. XVII. AD TYNDARIDEM. VELOX amoenum saepe Lucretilem Usque meis, pluviosque ventos. Impune tutum per nemus arbutos Nec virides metuunt colubras, Nec martiales haeduleae lupos; Laevia personuere saxa. Dî me tuentur: dîs pietas mea Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. Here shunning Canicular heat, and reclining That in Teos was strung, how with Circe the shining, Penelope strove in one love-kindled fire. Here goblets of innocent Lesbian quaffing, You'll fear not, while chatting with me in the shade, That Bacchus and Mars may mix battling with laughing, Nor be of that passionate Cyrus afraid, Lest, mad with suspicion, in conflict uneven, He tear from your ringlets their coronal crest; Or lay--as though it, too, offence could have givenUnmerited violent hands on your vest. This is almost certainly a close adaptation of a poem of Alcaeus, one line of which has been preserved by Athenaeus, and is a nearly literal translation of the first of the following lines. ON Tibur's mellow soil, and where Catilian ramparts shine, Centaurean fray, with Lapithae fought out in drink's excess, Hic in reducta valle Caniculae Penelopen vitreamque Circen. Hic innocentis pocula Lesbi Et scindat haerentem coronam XVIII. AD VARUM. NULLAM, Vare, sacra vite prius severis arborem Circa mite solum Tiburis et moenia Catili. Mordaces aliter diffugiunt sollicitudines. Quis post vina gravem militiam aut pauperiem crepat? Quis non te potius, Bacche pater, teque, decens Venus? At ne quis modici transiliat munera Liberi, Centaurea monet cum Lapithis rixa super mero Cum fas atque nefas exiguo fine libidinum |