ODE V. SEE, thy heifer's yet unbroke To the labors of the yoke, Time to her shall count each day, Shall not then with her compare ; Nor the Cnidian fair and young, With his hair of flowing grace, ODE VI. TO SEPTIMIUS. SEPTIMIUS, who hast vow'd to go With Horace even to farthest Spain, Untaught to bear the Roman chain, May Tiber to my latest hours Afford a kind and calm retreat; Tiber, beneath whose lofty towers The Grecians fix'd their blissful seat; But should the partial Fates refuse Where flocks of richest fleeces bathe: No spot so joyous smiles to me Of this wide globe's extended shores; Where nor the labors of the bee Yield to Hymettus' golden stores, Nor the green berry of Venafran soil There Jove his kindest gifts bestows, There joys to crown the fertile plains, With genial warmth the winter glows, And spring with lengthen'd honors reigns, Nor Aulon, friendly to the cluster'd vine, Envies the vintage of Falernian wine. That happy place, that sweet retreat, And when at length your Horace dies, ODE VII. TO POMPEIUS VARUS. VARUS, in early youth belov'd, In war's extremest dangers prov'd, Our daring host when Brutus led, And in the cause of freedom bled, To Rome and all her guardian powers What happy chance my friend restores, With whom I've cheer'd the tedious day, And drank its loitering hours away; Profuse of sweets while Syria shed Her liquid odors on my head? With thee I saw Philippi's plain, Its fatal rout; a fearful scene! And dropp'd, alas! th' inglorious shield, Where valor's self was forc'd to yield, Where soil'd in dust the vanquish'd lay, And breath'd th' indignant soul away. But me, when dying with my fear, Thro' warring hosts, enwrapt in air Swift did the god of wit convey; While thee, wild war's tempestuous sea Resorbing, hurried far from shore, And to new scenes of slaughter bore. To Jove thy votive offering pay And here beneath my laurels lay Thy limbs, from toils of warfare free, Nor spare the casks reserv'd for thee, |