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If I had consulted my own taste, I should have preferred to leave

this Ode untouched. It does Horace no credit, whether we suppose him to have written it in earnest, or to have taken the subject merely as an exercise for his muse—perhaps in imitation of some piece of Archilochus.

RARELIER knock against your fastened windows
Impudent youngsters with repeated rappings;
Nor do they break your rest; and to its threshold

Clingeth the portal,

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Which to revolve upon its hinge was once so
Ready: but ever less and less you hear now
While through the livelong night for thee I perish,

Lydia, sleep'st thou?'
You, an old woman, in your turn will pine for
Saucy rakes leaving you in lonely alley,
While betwixt moons with greater fury blusters

Thracian tempest:

And the same appetite and lustful craving,
Wont to infuriate the dams of horses,
Rages around your ulcerated liver :

Not without murmur

That 'tis the blooming ivy and the budding
Myrtle that gay young fellows most delight in,
And that dry leaves they dedicate to Hebrus,

Winter's companion.


PARCIUS junctas quatiunt fenestras
Ictibus crebris juvenes protervi,
Nec tibi somnos adimunt : amatque

Janua limen,

Quae prius multum facilis movebat Cardines. Audis minus et minus jam, Me tuo longas pereunte noctes,

Lydia, dormis ?'

Invicem moechos anus arrogantes
Flebis in solo levis angiportu,
Thracio bacchante magis sub inter-

lunia vento:

Cum tibi flagrans amor et libido,
Quae solet matres furiare equorum,
Saeviet circa jecur ulcerosum :

Non sine questu,

Laeta quod pubes hedera virente
Gaudeat, pulla magis atque myrto:
Aridas frondes hiemis sodali

Dedicet Hebro.

When this Ode was written, Parthian politics would seem to have

been occupying much attention at Rome, since Horace speaks of himself as the only person who gave no heed to them.

A FAVOURITE of the Muses, grief and fear
I render to the wilful winds to bear

To Cretan billows: I alone,

Heedless beneath what monarch groan
Chill Arctic regions, or what perils fright
Prince Tiridates. Thou who hast delight

In limpid rills, Pimplea sweet!

A garland for my Lamia knit
Of sunny flowers; for, without thee, my words
Can avail nothing : him with newstrung chords

To hallow, and, with Lesbian lute,
Well will thyself and sisters suit.

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Supposed to be imitated from Anacreon ; but if so, only the outlines

can have been copied : the lifelike details are surely original.

What! fight over cups meant as helps to hilarity!
'Tis Thracian. Away with that piece of barbarity!
And forbid that these bloodthirsty bickerings rude
On the presence of well-mannered Bacchus intrude.
Twixt Median sabre and lights of our feasts,
And their wine, what enormous discrepance exists!
Let, messmates, this impious din be repressed
And on your bent elbows continue at rest.

That of heady Falernian I too take my share? Do you wish me? Well then let the brother declare


Musis amicus, tristitiam et metus
Tradam protervis in mare Creticum
Portare ventis: quis sub arcto

Rex gelidae metuatur orae,
Quid Tiridaten terreat, unice
Securus. O quae fontibus integris

Gaudes, apricos necte flores,

Necte meo Lamiae coronam, Pimplea dulcis : nil sine te mei Prosunt honores. Hunc fidibus novis, Hunc Lesbio sacrare plectro,

Teque tuasque decet sorores.


Natis in usum laetitiae scyphis
Pugnare, Thracum est: tollite barbarum
Morem, verecundumque Bacchum

Sanguineis prohibete rixis.
Vino et lucernis Medus acinaces
Immane quantum discrepat! Impium
Lenite clamorem, sodales,

Et cubito remanete presso.
Voltis severi me quoque sumere
Partem Falerni ? Dicat Opuntiae

Of Opuntian Megill, with what wound he is thrilling,
Whose arrows they are which he finds are so killing.
Oh! you don't choose to tell? Well, at no other price
Will I drink. Yet indeed beneath whatsoe'er guise
Your Venus rules o'er you, they surely are not
Any fires you need blush for whereby you're distraught.
'Tis aye with some lady you sin—so don't fear;
Whate'er 'tis -out with it to trustworthy ear.
Nay, is't so ? Ah, 'gainst what a Charybdis you're pitted,
Wretched boy, whom a worthier flame had befitted !
What wizard with potions Thessalian, what witch,
What deity's aid, can so sad a case reach?
Bound by such a Chimaera, such triply-formed beast,
E’en by Pegasus' self can you scarce be released.


Most commentators consider this to be a gue between the spirit

of a shipwrecked and unburied sailor cast on shore near Tarentum, and that of the Tarentine philosopher Archytas; but the extreme difficulty of duly apportioning their respective parts to the interlocutors, induces me to follow Mr. Macleane and others in assigning the whole to a single speaker—to wit, the spirit of a shipwrecked sailor, moralizing upon death and asking for burial. No one, however, of the numerous explanations that have been suggested is altogether satisfactory.

BESTOWAL of a little dust near the Matinian shore
Imprisons thee, Archytas, now, surveyor heretofore
Of earth and ocean and the sand's innumerable grains :
Nor to thee, mortal as thou wert, of profit now remains

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