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To tempest-beaten Libya speeds his way,
Or drives a vagrant through th' uncertain sea.

Boy, bring us larger bowls, and fill them round
With Chian, or the Lesbian vintage crown'd,
Or rich Cæcubian, which may best restrain
All sickening qualms, and fortify the brain.
Th' inspiring juice shall the gay banquet warm,
Nor Cæsar's danger shall our fears alarm.



WHEN filthy Mævius hoists the spreading sail, Each luckless omen shall prevail.

Ye southern winds, invert the foamy tides,

Aud bang his labouring vessel's sides ;

Let Eurus rouse the main with blackening roar,
Crack every cable, every oar;

Let the north wind rise dreadful o'er the floods,
As when it breaks the mountain-woods,
Nor let one friendly star shine o'er the night,
When sets Orion's gloomy light.

Mayst thou no kinder winds, O Mævius, meet,
Than the victorious Grecian fleet,

When Pallas turn'd her rage from ruin'd Troy,
The impious Ajax to destroy.

With streams of sweat the toiling sailor glows,
Thy face a muddy paleness shows;
Nor shall thy vile, unmanly wailings move
The pity of avenging Jove,

While watery winds the bellowing ocean shake,
I see thy luckless vessel break:

But if thy carcase reach the winding shore,
And birds the pamper'd prey devour,

A lamb and lustful goat shall thank the storm,
And I the sacrifice perform.



SINCE cruel love, O Pettius, pierc'd my heart,
How have I lost my once-lov'd lyric art!
Thrice have the woods their leafy honour mourn'd,
Since for Inachia's beauties Horace burn'd.
How was I then (for I confess my shame)

Of every idle tale the laughing theme?
Oh! that I ne'er had known the jovial feast,

Where the deep sigh, that rends the labouring


Where languor, and a gentle silence shows,
To every curious eye, the lover's woes.

Pettius, how often o'er the flowing bowl,
When the gay liquor warm'd my opening soul,
When Bacchus, jovial god, no more restrain'd
The modest secret, how have I complain'd,
That wealthy blockheads, in a female's eyes,
From a poor poet's genius bear the prize!
But if a generous rage my breast should warm,
I swore no vain amusements e'er shall charm
My aching wounds. Ye vagrant winds, receive
The sighs, that sooth the pains they should relieve;
Here shall my shame of being conquer'd end,
Nor with such rivals will I more contend.

When thus, with solemn air, I vaunting said, #Inspir'd by thy advice I homeward sped :

But ah! my feet in wonted wanderings stray,
And to no friendly doors my steps betray;

There I forget my vows, forget my pride, And at her threshold lay my tortur'd side.



SEE what horrid tempests rise,
And contract the clouded skies;
Snows and showers fill the air,
And bring down the atmosphere.
Hark! what tempests sweep the floods!
How they shake the rattling woods!
Let us, while it's in our power,
Let us seize the fleeting hour;
While our cheeks are fresh and gay,
Let us drive old age away;
Let us smooth its gather'd brows,
Youth its hour of mirth allows.

Bring us down the mellow'd wine,
Rich with years, that equal mine;
Prithee, talk no more of sorrow,
To the gods belongs to morrow,
And, perhaps, with gracious power
They may change the gloomy hour.
Let the richest essence shed
Eastern odours on your head,
While the soft Cyllenian lyre
Shall your labouring breast inspire.
To his pupil, brave and young,
Thus the noble Centaur sung:
"Matchless mortal! though 'tis thine,
Proud to boast! a birth divine,
Yet the banks, with cooling waves
Which the smooth Scamander laves ;
And where Simoïs with pride
Rougher rolls his rapid tide,
Destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall the sea-born hero wait.
There the Sisters, fated boy,
Shall thy thread of life destroy,
Nor shall azure Thetis more
Waft thee to thy natal shore;
Then let joy and mirth be thine,
Mirthful songs, and joyous wine,
And with converse blithe and gay
Drive all gloomy cares away."



CLEAR was the night, the face of Heaven serene,
Bright shone the Moon amidst her starry train,
When round my neck as curls the tendril-vine-
(Loose are its curlings, if compar'd to thine);
'Twas then, insulting every heavenly power,
That, as I dictated, you boldly swore:
While the gaunt wolf pursues the trembling sheep;
While fierce Orion harrows up the deep;
While Phoebus' locks float wanton in the wind,
Thus shall Neæra prove, thus ever kind.

But, if with aught of man was Horace born,
Severely shalt thou feel his honest scorn;
Nor will he tamely bear the bold delight,
With which his rival riots out the night,
But in his anger seek some kinder dame,
Warm with the raptures of a mutual flame;
Nor shall thy rage, thy grief, or angry charms
Recall the lover to thy faithless arms.

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As the Phocæans oft for freedom bled,
At length, with imprecated curses, fled,
And left to boars and wolves the sacred fane,
With all their household gods, ador'd in vain;
So let us fly, as far as earth extends,
Or where the vagrant wind our voyage bends.
Shall this, or shall some better scheme prevail?
Why do we stop to hoist the willing sail?
But let us swear, when floating rocks shall gain,
Rais'd from the deep, the surface of the main;
When lowly Po the mountain summit laves,
And Apennine shall plunge beneath the waves;
When Nature's monsters meet in strange delight,
And the fell tigress shall with stags unite;
When the fierce kite shall woo the willing dove,
And win the wanton with adulterous love;
When herds on brindled lions fearless gaze,
And the smooth goat exults in briny seas:
Then, and then only, to the tempting gale
To spread repentant the returning sail.

Yet to cut off our hopes, those hopes that charm
Our fondness home, let us with curses arm
These high resolves. Thus let the brave and wise,
Whose souls above th' indocile vulgar rise;
Then let the crowd, who dare not hope success,
Inglorious, these ill-omen'd seats possess.

But ye, whom virtue warms, indulge no more These female plaints, but quit this fated shore; For earth-surrounding sea our flight awaits, Offering its blissful isles, and happy seats, Where annual Ceres crowns th' uncultur'd field, And vines unprun'd their blushing clusters yield; Where olives, faithful to their season, grow, And figs with Nature's deepest purple glow;

From hollow oaks where honied streams distil,
And bourds with noisy foot the pebbled rill;
Where goats untaught forsake the flowery vale,
And bring their swelling udders to the pail;
Nor evening-bears the sheep-fold growl around,
Nor mining vipers heave the tainted ground;
Nor watry Eurus deluges the plain,
Nor heats excessive burn the springing grain.
Not Argo thither turn'd her armed head;
Medea there no magic poison spread;
No merchants thither plough the pathless main,
For guilty commerce, and a thirst of gain;
Nor wise Ulysses, and his wandering bands,
Vicious, though brave, e'er knew these happy lands,
O'er the glad flocks no foul contagion spreads,
Nor summer Sun his burning influence sheds.

Pure and unmixt the world's first ages roll'd:
But soon as brass had stain'd the flowing gold,
To iron harden'd by succeeding crimes,
Jove for the just preserv'd these happy climes,
To which the gods this pious race invite,
And bid me, raptur'd bard, direct their flight,



CANIDIA, to thy matchless art,
Vanquish'd I yield a suppliant heart;
But oh! by Hell's extended plains,
Where Pluto's gloomy consort reigns;
By bright Diana's vengeful rage,
Which prayers nor hecatombs assuage;
And by the books, of power to call
The charmed stars, and bid them fall,
No more pronounce the sacred scroll,
But back the magio circle roll.

Even stern Achilles could forgive
The Mysian king, and bid him live,
Though proud he rang'd the ranks of fight,
And hurl'd the spear with daring might.
Thus, when the murderous Hector lay
Condemn'd to dogs, and birds of prey,
Yet when his royal father kneel'd,
The fierce Achilles knew to yield;
And Troy's unhappy matrons paid
Their sorrows to their Hector's shade.

Ulysses' friends, in labours tried, So Circe will'd, threw off their hide, Assum'd the human form divine, And dropp'd the voice and sense of swine. O thou, whom tars and merchants love, Too deep thy vengeful mage I prove, Reduc'd, alas! to skin and bone, My vigour fled, my colour gone. Thy fragrant odours on my head More than the snows of age have shed. Days press on nights, and nights on days, Yet never bring an hour of ease, While, gasping in the pangs of death, I stretch my lungs in vain for breath.

Thy charms have power ('tis now confest) To split the head, and tear the breast. What would you more, all-charming dame? O seas, and earth! this scorching flame! Not such the fire Alcides bore, When the black-venom'd shirt he wore; Nor such the flames, that to the skies From Etna's burning entrails rise:

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And yet, thou shop of poisons dire,
You glow with unrelenting fire,
Till, by the rapid heat calcin'd,
Vagrant I drive before the wind.

How long? What ransom shall I pay?
Speak-I the stern command obey.
To expiate the guilty deed,

Say, shall a hundred bullocks bleed? Or shall I to the lying string Thy fame and spotless virtue sing? Teach thee, a golden star, to rise, And deathless walk the spangled skies? When Helen's virtue was defam'd, Her brothers, though with rage inflam'd, Yet to the bard his eyes restor❜d, When suppliant he their grace implor'd. Oh! calm this madness of my brain, For you can heal this raging pain. 1 You never knew the birth of shime, Nor by thy hand, all-skilful dame, The poor man's ashes are upturn'd, Though they be thrice three days inurn'd. Thy bosom's bounteous and humane, Thy hand from blood and murder clean; And with a blooming race of boys Lucina crowns thy mother-joys.


I'LL hear no more. Thy prayers are vain.
Not rocks, amid the wint'ry main,
Less heed the shipwreck'd sailor's cries,
When Neptune bids the tempest rise.
Shall you Cotyttia's feast deride,
Yet safely triumph in thy pride?
Or, impious, to the glare of day
The sacred joys of love betray?
Or fill the city with my name,
And pontiff-like our rites defame?
Did I with wealth in vain enrich
Of potent spells each charming witch,
Or mix the speedy drugs in vain ?
No through a lingering length of pain
Reluctant shalt thou drag thy days,
While every hour new pangs shall raise.
Gazing on the delusive feast,

Which charms his eye, yet flies his taste,
Perfidious Tantalus implores,

For rest, for rest, the vengeful powers;
Prometheus, while the vulture preys
Upon his liver, longs for ease;

And Sisyphus with many a groan,
Uprolls, with ceaseless to his stone,
To fix it on the topmost hill-
In vain-for Jove's all-ruling will
Forbids. When thus in black despair
Down from some castle, high in air,
You seek a headlong fate below,
Or try the dagger's pointed blow,
Or if the left-ear'd knot you tie,
Yet death your vain attempts shall fly;
Then on your shoulders will I ride,
And earth shall shake beneath my pride.
Could I with life an image warm,
(Impertinent, you saw the charm)
Or tear down Luna from her skies,
Or bid the dead, though burn'd, arise,
Or mix the draught inspiring love,

And shall my art on thee successless prove?



STAND off, ye vulgar, nor profane,

With bold, unhallow'd sounds, this festal scene: In hymns inspir'd by truth divine,

I, priest of the melodious Nine,

To youths and virgins sing the mystic strain.


PHOEBUS taught me how to sing,

How to tune the vocal string;
Phoebus made me known to Fame,
Honour'd with a poet's name.

Noble youths, and virgins fair,
Chaste Diana's guardian care,
(Goddess, whose unerring dart
Stops the lynx, or flying hart)
Mark the Lesbian measures well,
Where they fall, and where they swell;
And in varied cadence sing,
As I strike the changing string.
To the god, who gilds the skies,
Let the solemn numbers rise;
Solemn sing the queen of night,
And her crescent's bending light,
Which adown the fruitful year
Rolls the months in prone career.
Soon, upon her bridal day,
Thus the joyful maid shall say:
"When the great revolving year
Bade the festal morn appear,
High the vocal hymn I rais'd,
And the listening gods were pleas'd:
All the vocal hymn divine,
Horace, tuneful bard, was thine."



CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. TITYOS, with impious lust inspir'd, By chaste Latona's beauties fir'd,

Thy wrath, O Phoebus, tried; And Niobe, of tongue profane, Deplor'd her numerous offspring slain,

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Sad victims of their mother's pride.' Achilles too, the son of Fame, Though sprung from Thetis, sea-born dame, And first of men in fight, Though warring with tremendous spear He shook the Trojan towers with fear,

Yet bow'd to thy superior might;" The cypress, when by storms impell'd, Or pine, by biting axes fell'd,

Low bends the towering head:'
So falling on th' ensanguin'd plain,
By your unerring arrow slain,

His mighty bulk the hero spread.
He had not Priam's heedless court,
Dissolv'd in wine, and festal sport,
With midnight art surpris'd;
But bravely bold, of open force,
Had proudly scorn'd Minerva's horse,

And all its holy cheat despis'd;

Then arm'd, alas! with horrours dire,
Wide-wasting with resistless ire,

Into the flames had thrown
Infants, upon whose faltering tongue
Their words in formless accents hung,

Infants to light and life unknown: But charm'd by beauty's queen and thee, The sire of gods, with just decree

Assenting, shook the skies;

That Troy should change th' imperial seat, And, guided by a better fate,

Glorious in distant realms should rise, Oh! may the god, who could inspire With living sounds the Grecian lyre; In Xanthus' lucid stream Who joys to bȧthe his flowing hair, Now make the Latian Muse his care,

And powerful guard her rising fame!



Ys virgins, sing Diana's praise.


Ye boys, let youthful Phœbus crown your lays.


Together let us raise the voice

To her, belov'd by Jove supreme;
Let fair Latona be the theme,

Our tuneful theme, his beauteous choice.


Ye virgins, sing Diana's fame, Who bathes delighted in the limpid stream; Dark Erymanthus' awful groves,

The woods that Algidus o'erspread, Or wave on Cragus' verdant head, Joyous th' immortal huntress loves.


Ye boys, with equal honour sing Fair Tempe cloth'd with ever-blooming spring; Then hail the Delian birth divine,

Whose shoulders, beaming heavenly fire, Grac'd with his brother's warbling lyre, And with the golden quiver shine.


Mov'd by the solemn voice of prayer,

They both shall make-imperial Rome their care,
And gracious turn the direful woes

Of famine and of weeping war
From Rome, from sacred Cæsar far,
And pour them on our British foes.




YE radiant glories of the skies,
Ever-beaming god of light,
Sweetly-shining queen of night,

Beneath whose wrath the wood-born savage dies;

The Twenty-first Ode of the First Book.

Ye powers, to whom with ceaseless praise A grateful world its homage pays, Let our prayer, our prayer be heard, Now in this solemn hour preferr'd, When by the Sibyl's dread command,

Of spotless maids a chosen train, Of spotless youths a chosen band, To all our guardian gods uplift the hallow'd strain,


Fair Sun, who with unchanging beam
Rising another and the same,

Dost from thy beamy car unfold
The glorious day,

Or hide it in thy setting ray,

Of light and life immortal source,

Mayst thou, in all thy radiant course,

Nothing more great than seven-hill'd Rome behold!


Goddess of the natal hour,

Or, if other name more dear,
Propitious power,

Can charm your ear,

Our pregnant matrons gracious hear: With lenient hand their pangs compose,

Heal their agonizing throes;

Give the springing birth to light,

And with every genial grace,
Prolific of an endless race,


Oh! crown our marriage-laws, and bless the nuptial

That when the circling years complete
Again this awful season bring,

Thrice with the day's revolving light,
Thrice beneath the shades of night,
In countless bands our youthful choirs may sing
These festal hymns, these pious games repeat.
Ye Fates, from whom unerring flows

The word of truth; whose firm decree
Its stated bounds and order knows,

Wide spreading through eternity,
With guardian care around us wait,
And with successive glories crown the state,
Let earth her various fruitage yield,
Her living verdure spread,
And form, amid the waving field,

A sheafy crown for Ceres' head;
Fall genial showers, and o'er our fleecy care
May Jove indulgent breathe his purest air!


Phoebus, whose kindly beams impart
Health and gladness to the heart,

While in its quiver lies the pestilential dart,
Thy youthful suppliants hear:


Queen of the stars, who ruf'st the night
In horned majesty of light,

Bend to thy virgins a propitious ear.


If, ye gods, the Roman state
Was form'd by your immortal power,
Or if, to change th' imperial seat,

And other deities adore,

Beneath your guidance the Dardanian host Pour'd forth their legions on the Tuscan coast;

For whom Æneas; through the fire,
In which he saw his Troy expire,
A passage open'd to an happier clime,

Where they might nobler triumphs gain,
And to never-ending time

With boundless empire reign,
Ye gods, inform our docile youth
With early principles of truth;
Ye gods, indulge the waning days
Of silver'd age with placid ease,

And grant to Rome an endless race,
Treasure immense and every sacred grace.

The prince, who owes to beauty's queen his birth,
Who bids the snowy victim's blood
Pour forth to day its purple flood,

Oh! may he glorious rule the conquer'd earth;
But yet a milder glory show

In mercy to the prostrate foe!

Already the fierce Mede his arms reveres,
Which wide extend th' imperial sway,
And bid th' unwilling world obey;
The haughty Indian owns his fears,

And Scythians, doubtful of their doom,
Await the dread resolves of Rome.

Faith, Honour, Peace, celestial maid,
And Modesty, in ancient guise array'd,
And Virtue (with unhallow'd scorn
Too long neglected) now appear,
While Plenty fills her bounteous horn,
And pours her blessings o'er the various year.


If the prophetic power divine,
Fam'd for the golden bow and quiver'd dart,
Who knows to charm the listening Nine,
And feeble mortals raise with healing art;
If he with gracious eye survey the towers,
Where Rome his deity adores,

Oh! let each era still presage
Increase of happiness from age to age!

Oh! may Diana, on these favourite hills,
Whose diffusive presence fills
Her hallow'd fane,
Propitious deign
Our holy priests to hear,

And to our youth incline her willing ear!

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. Lo! we the chosen youthful choir, Taught with harmonious voice to raise Apollo's and Diana's praise,

In full and certain hope retire,

That all th' assembled gods, and sovereign Jove, These pious vows, these choral hymns approve.





MECENAS, What's the cause, that no man lives Contented with the lot which reason gives,

Or chance presents; yet all with envy view The schemes that others variously pursue?

Broken with toils, with ponderous arms opprest, The soldier thinks the merchant solely blest. In opposite extreme; when tempests rise, War is a better choice, the merchant cries; The battle joins, and in a moment's flight, Death, or a joyful conquest, ends the fight. When early clients thunder at his gate, The barrister applauds the rustic's fate: While, by subpoenas dragg'd from home, the clown Thinks they alone are blest who live in town. But every various instance to repeat Would tire ev'n Fabius, of eternal prate. Not to be tedious, mark the general aim Of these examples-Should some god proclaim, "Your prayers are heard: you, soldier, to your


You, lawyer, take that envied rustic's ease:
Each to his several part-What! ha! not move
Even to the bliss you wish'd?" And shall not Jove
Swell both his cheeks with anger, and forswear
His weak indulgence to their future prayer?

But not to treat my subject as in jest,
(Yet may not truth in laughing guise be drest?
As masters fondly sooth their boys to read
With cakes and sweetmeats) let us now proceed;
With graver air our serious theme pursue,
And yet preserve our moral full in view.

Who turns the soil, and o'er the ploughshare
He who adulterates the laws, and vends; [bends}
The soldier, and th' adventurers of the main,
Profess their various labours they sustain,
A decent competence for age to raise,
And then retire to indolence and ease.

For thus the little ant (to human lore
No mean example) forms her frugal store,
Gather'd, with mighty toil, on every side,
Nor ignorant, nor careless to provide
For future want.

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