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BOOK I. ODE XVIII.

No tree shouldst thou plant, O Varus, sooner than the sacred vines

Round the mellow soil of Tibur and Catilus' castled

lines:

Everything to wine-abstainers Heaven has ordered hard should be,

Nor in any other fashion gnawing cares departing flee. What man after wine complains of hard campaigns or poverty?

Who is not for thee, Sire Bacchus, or, O comely Venus, thee?

But that none with Liber's bounties overleap the

measured line,

Centaurs warn us with the Lapithe brawliug for the cup of wine,

T

Debellata, monet Sithoniis non levis Eunius.
Com fas atque netas exiguo ine libidinum
Discernunt avidi. Yon ego te, candide Bassaren.
Invitum quatiam nec variis obsita frondibus

Sub divim rapiam. Saeva tene enm Berecyntio Cornu tympana, quae subsequitur caecus amor sui Et tollens vacuum plus nimio gloria verticem Arcanique fides prodiga, perlucidior vitro.

Deadly duel! Euhius warns us, no light God to Thracians he,

When they right and wrong distinguish by the narrow boundary

Their own lusts have listed, greedy! I will not in thy

despite

Wave thy wand, fair skin-clad Bacchus, no, nor hurry

forth to light

What the chequered leaves have covered.

tambour's savage strain

Stop the

And the horn of Berecyntus; blind Self-love is in their

train,

And Vain-gloriousness uplifting too great height her

empty head,

Faith, too, more than glass transparent, who the secret

hath betrayed.

LIBER I. CARMEN XXII.

Integer vitae scelerisque purus
Non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra,

Sive per Syrtis iter aestuosas
Sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasem vel quae loca fabulosus
Lambit Hydaspes.

Namque me silva lupus in Sabina, Dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra Terminum curis vagor expeditis, Fugit inermem :

BOOK I. ODE XXII.

The pure of life and clean from sin
Needs not the Moorish javelin,
Nor bow, nor quiver with its load
Of poisoned arrows, whether his road

By Syrtes with its boiling sea,
Or o'er unharboured* Caucasus be,
Or regions that with lambent wave
Hydaspes' fabled waters lave.

In Sabine wood, whilst free from care I sing of Lalage my dear,

And roam beyond my bound, at sight Of me unarmed a wolf took flight!

* Compare Comus: 'unharboured heaths.'

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