IX.

TO MAECENAS.

Maecenas, eques Etrusco de sanguine regum.

MAECENAS, knight of regal Tuscan blood,
Content within thy fortune's limit-line,
Why bid me venture on so vast a flood?
Great sails are suited not to bark like mine.

'Tis base to take a load one cannot bear,

And, fainting 'neath it, bend the knee and yield: All are not fitted equal fates to share: Alone we win the palm on glory's field.

By lifelike statues rose Lysippus' name;
And Calamis in groups equestrian shone ;
His Venus earned Apelles deathless fame;

In smaller forms Parrhasius stands alone;

In beauty, fair the groups of Mentor shine;
Mys bends the Acanthus' tiny path with ease;
The ivory Jove of Phidias is divine;

The Parian marble claims Praxiteles;

Some wrest the palm-wreath of the Elean car;
Others by speed of foot achieve renown;
This man for peace—that born for camps and war :
Each follows still the seeds by Nature sown.

To all the rules of life laid down by thee,
My heart, Maecenas, I did well incline.
A faithful pupil thou wilt find in me,

Who thine example now must needs outshine.

Though, honoured, thou the lordly axe mayst wield; Lay down the law within the forum's walls;

March through fell Medan spears on war's red field; * And pile up stands of armour in thy halls;

Though Caesar ever gives the ready aid,

And wealth profusely proffered never fails,Thou shrink'st and humbly seek'st the gentle shade, And with thine own hand reef'st thy bellying sails.

In this thou'lt with the great Camilli vie;
Yea, every tongue thy praises shall proclaim;
By Caesar's glory still thy path shall lie,
And loyalty, true trophy, crown thy fame.

With sails I will not cleave the swollen deep:
Safe, anchored near the tiny stream, I'll ride;
Nor o'er the smouldering walls of Cadmus weep,
Or fields with gore like-stained on either side;

Nor sing the Scaean gates, Apollo's tower,

And Graecia's fleet's return, ten winters o'er,
What time the wooden horse, Minerva's dower,
With Grecian ploughshare Neptune's bulwarks tore.

Enough with sweet Callimachus to please,
And lays like thine, O Coän poet! weave;
To thrill the youth and fire the fair with these,
Be hailed divine, and homage meet receive.

* Vel tibi Medorum pugnaces ire per hastas.—(Mueller.)

But lead thou on; and I shall then make bold
To sing how erst in war Almighty Jove

With Coeus and Oromedon of old

On Phlegra's mountains for heaven's empire strove—

Sing lofty Palatine where browsed the steer

Rome's battlements made strong through Remus slain— The royal Twins the she-wolf came to rear

And loftier themes than these, shouldst thou ordain :

I'll sing our triumphs won in East and West,

The Parthian shafts back-showered in foul retreat,
Pelusium's forts by Roman steel opprest,
And Antony's self-murder in defeat.

Kind patron of my youth, take rein and go,
And, whirled away, auspicious smile on me.
This praise thou giv'st me, and to thee I owe
The fame I'll reap from emulating thee.

X.

TO CYNTHIA,

ON HER BIRTHDAY.

Mirabar, quidnam misissent mane Camenae.

THIS morn I marvelled why the tuneful Nine
Before my couch at blush of sunrise stood;

Of Cynthia's natal day they sent a sign,

And, thrice, loud clapped their hands with omen good.

Ye winds, be still; no cloud obscure the sky;
Calm on the shore let the rude billow sleep;
Let sorrow cease to dim the mourner's eye,
And marble Niobe forget to weep.

Let the lorn halcyons hush their doleful cries,
Nor Procne mourn lost Itys; and do thou,
Dear one, with happy omen born, arise,

Adore the gods who claim thy homage now.

And first with water pure dull sleep remove,
With skilful fingers gloss thy gleaming hair;
Then don the dress first lured my eyes to love,

And round thy brow a flowery chaplet wear.

And pray thy potent charms may bloom eterne,
And o'er my head thy rule remain supreme;
On the crowned altar let sweet incense burn,

And cheerful flames through all thy dwelling gleam.

Then spread the board; all night the goblets drain; From murrhine box the saffron essence pour; Dance till the flute croaks breathless, nor restrain Thy wanton prattle while we tread the floor.

Let the glad feast unwelcome slumber scare,
And all the neighbouring street with echo ring,
Then let the dice to thee and me declare

Which one the Boy-god smites with heavy wing.

When many a cup has whiled the hours away,

And love's fair queen shall sound the welcome call, The yearly solemn love-rites let us pay,

And so conclude thy birthday festival.