ODE XXV.

TO LYDIA.

But seldom, now, each wanton spark
Knocks at your lattice after dark ;
You sleep all night without remark;

Shut stands your door,

Whose hinges used full oft to creak;
Less tenderly admirers speak ;
“O Lydia, list your lover meek!"

You hear no more.

Old now, in turn, you will bewail,
From some lone alley, rakes who rail ;
Before that Thracian wind you quail

Which monthly blows;

When that dire love, or flagrant lust,
Which

urges mares to rage 'mid dust, Inflames your liver with disgust

And mental throes,

To think that joyous youths still seize
The ivy green and myrtle trees,
And let what's sear in Hebrus freeze

'Mong wintry snows.

ODE XXX.

Rogat Venerem ut veniat in sacellum à Glycerâ ipsi

dedicatum.

O Venus, regina Cnidi Paphique,
Sperne dilectam Cypron, et vocantis
Thure te multo Glyceræ decoram

Transfer in ædem.

Fervidus tecum puer, et solutis
Gratiæ zonis, properentque Nymphæ
Et parum comis sine te Juventas,

Mercuriusque.

ODE XXX

TO VENUS.

O Venus ! lovely Paphian queen,
Leave Cyprus, and, with smiling mien,
In Glyc'ra's temple be thou seen

'Midst incense’ smoke;

Let rosy Cupid haste with thee,
The pleasing Nymphs, and Graces three,
Youth—blest by thee, and Mercury,

Who loves a joke.

с

ODE XXXII.

Ad Lyram suam, quam commendat.

Poscimus', si quid vacui sub umbrâ Lusimus tecum, quod et hunc in annum Vivat, et plures : age, dic Latinum,

Barbite, carmen,

Lesbio primùm modulate civi;
Qui ferox bello, tamen inter arma,
Sive jactatam religârat udo

Littore navim,

Liberum, et Musas, Veneremque, et illi
Semper hærentem puerum canebat;
Et. Lycum nigris oculis, nigroque

Crine decorum.

O decus Phoebi, et dapibus supremi
Grata testudo Jovis, ô laborum
Dulce lenimen, mihi cunque salve

Rite vocanti.

ODE XXXII.

TO HIS LYRE.

If e'er with me, on shady plain,
Thou hast sent forth a Latin strain
Which long shall live,-0 sing again,

Resounding lyre!

Like Grecian poét's be thy charm,
Who, in the midst of war's alarm,
Or when his ship rode safe from harm

And tempests dire,

Sang Venus and her hovering son,
The Muses, Bacchus-god of fun,
And dark-eyed Lycus, who by none

Was e'er outshone.

O! grace of Phoebus, loved by Jove,
Welcome at all the feasts above,
Thou soothing object of my love,

Awake thy tone.

commentator (in loc.) says, “ Latini carminis Lyrici auctor ac princeps Horatius, sicut Alcæus Græci.”