That place, those hills of rich delight His memory lives! ODE VIII. AD BARINEN. ULLA si juris tibi pejerati Pœna, Barine, nocuisset unquam ; Dente si nigro fieres, vel uno Turpior ungui; Crederem. Sed tu simul obligâsti Perfidum votis caput, enitescis Publica cura. Expedit matris cineres opertos Fallere, et toto taciturna noctis Signa cum cœlo, gelidâque divos Morte carentes. Ridet hoc, inquam, Venus ipsa; rident Simplices Nymphæ, ferus et Cupido, Semper ardentes acuens sagittas Cote cruentâ. Adde quòd pubes tibi crescit omnis, Impiæ tectum dominæ relinquunt ODE VIII. TO BARINE. BARINE, if thy want of truth, E'en with a blacken'd nail or tooth, Had e'er been punish'd-then, forsooth, Thy word I'd trust! But when invoking wrath divine, Then more and more thy beauties shine, Inflames with lust. It is, no doubt, a thriving trade To cheat with lies a mother's shade ; Oaths made by heaven to evade, And by the gods. Venus, I know, enjoys the fun, As doth her arrow-barbing son, Whilst each kind nymph—ay, every one— Assenting, nods. The rising generation, too, With zest thy blandishments pursue, Whilst former suitors still are true, Nor can depart; |