Liber X.

ODE VIII.

AD MECENATEM.

Reddit rationem cur Martiis Calendis sacrificet.

MARTIIS cœlebs quid agam Calendis,
Quid velint flores, et acerra thuris
Plena', miraris, positusque carbo in
Cespite vivo,

Docte sermones utriusque linguæ.
Voveram dulces epulas, et album

Libero caprum, prope funeratus

Arboris ictu 2.

Hic dies, anno redeunte, festus
Corticem astrictum pice dimovebit
Amphoræ fumum bibere institutæ

Consule Tullo.

2 Vide Horace, book ii. ode 13 & 14.

Book III.

ODE VIII.

TO MECENAS.

To you, no doubt, 'twill strange appear,
That I in rites1 should interfere,

Ordain'd that marriage-state to cheer

Which cheers not me,

Since Greek and Latin well you
But feasts to Bacchus did I vow
When nearly kill'd by cruel blow

know :

Of falling tree2.

As years revolve, this festive day

The well-seal'd cork shall take away

From cask long-season'd;-one which lay

In smoke for years!

1 The festival on the calends of March was celebrated by married people.

Sume, Mæcenas, cyathos amici Sospitis centum; et vigiles lucernas Perfer in lucem; procul omnis esto Clamor et ira.

Mitte civiles super urbe curas:
Occidit Daci Cotisonis agmen ;

Medus infestus sibi luctuosis

Dissidet armis :

Servit Hispanæ vetus hostis oræ Cantaber, serâ domitus catenâ ; Jam Scythæ laxo meditantur arcu Cedere campis.

Negligens, ne qua populus laboret, Parce privatus nimium cavere: Dona præsentis cape lætus horæ, et Linque severa.

Drink late, drink deep, the juice of grape,
In honour of thy friend's escape,
Banish'd be care in every shape,

And brawls, and tears.

Lay city politics aside;—

The Dacian foe has lost his pride,

The hostile Mede now stems the tide
Of civil war :

Low lies, subdued, our Spanish foe,-
Sure is our conquest, though 'twas slow;
The Scythians, too, with unbent bow,
Retire afar:

In private life some comfort find,
Fret not to please the public mind,
Enjoy the present,-cast behind

All cares which jar.

ODE XI.

AD MERCURIUM.

Ut sibi dictet cantus quibus Lyde flectatur. MERCURI, (nam te docilis magistro Movit Amphion lapides canendo,) Tuque, testudo, resonare septem

Callida nervis,

Nec loquax olim, neque grata, nunc et
Divitum mensis et amica templis,

Dic modos, Lyde quibus obstinatas
Applicet aures.

Quæ, velut latis equa trima campis, Ludit exultim, metuitque tangi, Nuptiarum expers, et adhuc protervo Cruda marito.

Tu potes tigres comitesque silvas
Ducere, et rivos celeres morari :
Cessit immanis tibi blandienti

Janitor aulæ

Cerberus; quamvis furiale centum
Muniant angues caput ejus, atque

Spiritus teter saniesque manet

Ore trilingui.