Positosque vernas, ditis examen domus, Circum renidentes Lares! Haec ubi, locutus fenerator Alphius, Jam jam futurus rusticus, Omnem redegit Idibus pecuniam; III. AD MAECENATEM. PARENTIS olim si quis impia manu Senile guttur fregerit, Edit cicutis allium nocentius. O dura messorum ilia! Quid hoc veneni saevit in praecordiis? Incoctus herbis me fefellit? An malas Ut Argonautas praeter omnes candidum Ignota tauris illigaturum juga, 307 The necks of untamed bulls to yoke. Gifts smeared with this she took to cloak Ere on winged serpent thence she hied. Never on parched Apulia weighs. More furiously his consort's vest Burned not on stout Alcides' breast. If ever you are droll enough Maecenas, to desire such stuff, Well, then I pray, the girl you love Back, with her hand, your lips may shove, This, like the ninth Ode of the first Book, is a convivial song written in winter. A FEARFUL storm contracts the sky, and showers of rain and snow Bring down aerial Jupiter: now ocean, forests now, Roar with the Thracian north wind: let us, my com rades, seize The weather's opportunity, and, while still firm our knees, And it becomes us, let old age smoothen his wrinkled brow. Wine pressed when my Torquatus held the consulship do thou Produce leave talking of aught else: perchance the deity Will with good turn resettle things. 'Tis pleasant now to be Hoc delibutis ulta donis pellicem, Serpente fugit alite. Nec tantus unquam siderum insedit vapor Siticulosae Apuliae: Nec munus humeris efficacis Herculis Inarsit aestuosius. At, si quid unquam tale concupiveris, Jocose Maecenas, precor Manum puella savio opponat tuo, XIII. HORRIDA tempestas caelum contraxit, et imbres Nivesque deducunt Jovem; nunc mare, nunc siluae Threïcio Aquilone sonant: rapiamus, amici, Occasionem de die, dumque virent genua, Et decet, obducta solvatur fronte senectus. Tu vina Torquato move consule pressa meo. Cetera mitte loqui: deus haec fortasse benigna Reducet in sedem vice. Nunc et Achaemenio Sprinkled with Achaemenian nard, and with Cyllenian lyre Our bosoms to alleviate of their forebodings dire. Twas thus that to his stalwart ward the noble Centaur sung: 'Unconquered mortal, boy who hast from goddess Thetis sprung, The country of Assaracus awaits thee, which divides Little Scamander's cooling stream, through which swift Simois glides; Whence thy return the Parcae have severed with stable thread, Whence homeward ne'er again shall thee thine azure mother lead. Wherefore do thou with wine and song and pleasant converse there Drive away every ill that springs from ugly spleenish care.' This is supposed to have been written B.C. 40, the year after the battle of Philippi, and at the beginning of the Perusian war, when the affairs of both Italy and Horace were in a deplorable condition; he having lost his patrimony, and not having yet been introduced to Maecenas. He was then only twenty-four, and, as Lord Lytton says, 'this Epode has the character of youth both in its defects and its beauties.' Now yet another age is worn by civil wars away, Perfundi nardo juvat, et fide Cyllenea Levare diris pectora sollicitudinibus : Nobilis ut grandi cecinit Centaurus alumno: 'Invicte, mortalis dea nate puer Thetide, Te manet Assaraci tellus, quam frigida parvi Findunt Scamandri flumina lubricus et Simoïs; Unde tibi reditum certo subtemine Parcae Rupere; nec mater domum caerula te revehet. Illic omne malum vino cantuque levato, Deformis aegrimoniae dulcibus alloquiis.' XVI. AD POPULUM ROMANUM. ALTERA jam teritur bellis civilibus aetas, Quam neque finitimi valuerunt perdere Marsi, |