Now

ODE XXXVII.

TO HIS COMPANIONS.

JOW let the bowl with wine be crown'd,
Now lighter dance the mazy round,

And let the sacred couch be stor'd

With the rich dainties of a priestly board.

Sooner to draw the mellow'd wine, Prest from the rich Cæcubian vine, Were impious mirth, while yet elate The queen breath'd ruin to the Roman state.

Surrounded by a tainted train,
Wretches enervate and obscene,

She rav'd of empire-nothing less-
Vast in her hopes, and giddy with success.

But, hardly rescu'd from the flames,
One lonely ship her fury tames;
While Cæsar with impelling oar
Pursu'd her flying from the Latian shore:

Her, with Egyptian wine inspir'd,

With the full draught to madness fir'd,
Augustus sober'd into tears,

And turn'd her visions into real fears.

As darting sudden from above
The hawk attacks a tender dove;
Or sweeping huntsman drives the hare
O'er wide Emonia's icy deserts drear;

So Cæsar through the billows press'd
To lead in chains the fatal pest:
But she a nobler fate explor'd,

Nor woman-like beheld the deathful sword,

Nor with her navy fled dismay'd,
In distant realms to seek for aid,
But saw unmov'd her state destroy'd,
Her palace desolate, a lonely void;

With fearless hand she dar'd to grasp
The writhings of the wrathful asp,
And suck the poison through her veins,
Resolv'd on death, and fiercer from its pains:

Then scorning to be led the boast
Of mighty Cæsar's naval host,

And arm'd with more than mortal spleen, Defrauds a triumph, and expires a queen.

ODE XXXVIII.

TO HIS SLAVE.

TELL thee, boy, that I detest
The grandeur of a Persian feast,
Nor for me the linden's rind
Shall the flowery chaplet bind:
Then search not where the curious rose
Beyond his season loitering grows,
But beneath the mantling vine
While I quaff the flowing wine,

The myrtle's wreath shall crown our brows,
While you shall wait, and I carouse.

O DE S.

BOOK II.

ODE I.

TO ASINIUS POLLIO.

POLLIO, thou the great defence

Of sad, impleaded innocence,

On whom, to weigh the grand debate,

In deep consult the fathers wait;

For whom the triumphs o'er Dalmatia spread Unfading honours round thy laurel'd head,

Of warm commotions, wrathful jars,
The growing seeds of civil wars;
Of double Fortune's cruel games,
The specious means, the private aims,
And fatal friendships of the guilty great,
Alas! how fatal to the Roman state!

Of mighty legions late subdu'd,
And arms with Latian blood imbru'd,
Yet unaton'd (a labour vast!

Doubtful the dye, and dire the cast!)

You treat adventurous, and incautious tread On fires with faithless embers overspread:

Retard awhile thy glowing vein,
Nor swell the solemn, tragic scene;
And when thy sage, historic cares
Have form'd the train of Rome's affairs,

With lofty rapture re-inflam'd, infuse

Heroic thoughts, and wake the buskin'd Muse: