quered by a long disputed victory. Now too the Scythians are preparing to quit the field with their unbent bows. Neglectful, as a private person, forbear to be too solicitous, lest the community in any wise suffer, and joyfully seize the boons of the present hour, and quit serious affairs. ODE IX. TO LYDIA. A dialogue between Horace and Lydia. HORACE. As long as I was agreeable to you, nor did any other youth more acceptable fold his arms over your snowy neck, I flourished more blest than the Persian monarch. LYDIA. As long as you had not a greater flame for any other, nor was Lydia below Chloe in your affec tions, I Lydia, of distinguished fame, flourished more eminent than the Roman Ilia.* HORACE. The Cretan Chloe now commands me, skilful in sweet modulations, and a mistress of the lyre; for whom I would not dread to die, if the fates would spare her my surviving soul. *The mother of Romulus. LYDIA. Calais, the son of the Thurian Ornythus, inflames me with a mutual fire; for whom I would twice suffer death, if the fates would spare my surviving boy. HORACE. But what if our former love returns, and unites by a brazen (indissoluble) yoke, us now separated? what if Chloe with her golden locks be shaken off, and the door of the repudiated Lydia again open to me? LYDIA. Though he is brighter than a star, you of more levity than a cork, and more passionate than the blustering Adriatic; with you I should love to live, with you I would cheerfully die. ODE X. TO LYCE. That, laying aside her hardness of heart, she would take some pity of him. O LYCE, had you* drunk from the remote Tanaïs, in a state of marriage with some barbarian, yet you might be sorry to expose me, prostrated, before your obdurate doors, to those inhabitants, the north winds. Do you hear with what a noise your gate, with what a noise the grove, planted * If you had been an inhabitant of Scythia, of which Ta aaïs is a river. about your elegant buildings, re-bellows to the winds? and how Jupiter glazes the settled snow with his pure influence? Lay aside disdain, offensive to Venus, lest your* rope should run backwards with rapid wheel. Your Tyrrhenian father did not beget you to be as inaccessible as Penelope to your wooers. O, notwithstanding neither presents, nor prayers, nor the violet-tinctured paleness of your lovers, nor your husband smitten with a musical madam, bend you to pity; yet at length spare thy suppliants, thou that art no softer than the sturdy oak, nor of a gentler disposition than the African serpents. This side of mine will not always be able to bear your threshold and the rain. ODE XI. TO MERCURY. That most grievous punishments were appointed for cruelty, even in the other world. O MERCURY, (since the ingenious Amphion moved rocks by his voice, you being his tutor,) and thou my harp, expert to resound with seven strings, formerly neither vocal nor pleasing, but now agreeable to the tables of the wealthy, and the temples of the Gods; dictate measures to which Lyde may incline her obstinate ears, who, like a filly of three years old, play some frisks about in the spacious fields, inexperienced in the sweets of nuptial loves, and hitherto unripe for * Alluding to wheels and pulleys, where, if you once let go your hold, the weight carries off the rope with great velocity. the enjoyment of a husband. You are able to draw after you tigers and attendant woods, and to retard rapid rivers. To your blandishments, the enormous porter of the infernal palace yielded, though a hundred serpents fortify his head, and a pestilential steam and an infectious poison issues from his triple-tongued mouth. Moreover, Ixion and Tityus smiled with reluctant aspect : and, while you soothe the daughters of Danaüs with your delightful harmony, their vessel for some time remained dry. Let Lyde hear an account of their crime, and their well-known punishment, and the cask still empty by the water streaming through the bottom, and what fates await their misdeeds even beyond the grave. Impious? (for what greater impiety could they have committed?) Impious they could destroy their bridegrooms with the cruel poniard. One out of many, worthy of the nuptial torch, was nobly false to her perjured parent, and a maiden illustrious to all posterity: she, who said to her youthful husband, Arise! arise! lest an eternal sleep be given to you, from a hand you have no suspicion of; disappoint your fatherin-law, and my atrocious sisters, who, like lionesses having possessed themselves of so many calves, (alas!) tear each of them to pieces; I am of softer mould than they, neither will I strike thee, nor will I detain thee in my custody. Let my father load me with cruel chains, because out of mercy I spared my unhappy spouse; let him transport me even to the extreme Numidian plains. Depart where your feet and the winds carry you, while the night and Venus are favourable: Depart, with a happy omen, yet, not for getful of me, engrave my mournful story on my tomb. ODE XII. TO NEOBULE. That she, being captivated by the love of young Hebrus, had given herself up to sloth and idleness. Ir is only for the unhappy neither to give indulgence to love, nor to wash away cares with delicious wine; or to be dispirited, out of dread for the lashes of an uncle's tongue. The winged boy of Venus, O Neobule, has deprived you of your spindle and your webs, and the beauty of Hebrus from Lipara, of the arts of industrious Minerva, after he has bathed his anointed shoulders in the waters of the Tiber, a better horseman than Bellerophon himself, neither conquered at boxing, or by want of swiftness in the race; he is also dexterous to strike with his javelin the stags flying through the opened plains in frightened herd, and active to surprise the wild boar lurking in his deep covert. ODE XIII. TO THE BLANDUSIAN FOUNTAIN. He promises the Fountain a sacrifice, and renown from his verses. O THOU fountain of Blandusia, clearer than glass, worthy of delicious wine from goblets crowned with flowers; to-morrow you shall be |