ODE VI.

TO SEPTIMIUS.

SEPTIMIUS, who hast vow'd to go

With Horace even to farthest Spain,
Or see the fierce Cantabrian foe,

Untaught to bear the Roman chain,
Or the barbaric Syrts, with mad recoil
Where Mauritanian billows ceaseless boil:

May Tibur to my latest hours

Afford a kind and calm retreat; Tibur, beneath whose lofty towers

The Grecians fix'd their blissful seat: There may my labours end, my wanderings cease, There all my toils of warfare rest in peace!

But should the partial Fates refuse That purer air to let me breathe, Galesus, thy sweet stream I'll choose, Where flocks of richest fleeces bathe: Phalantus there his rural sceptre sway'd, Uncertain offspring of a Spartan maid.

No spot so joyous smiles to me

Of this wide globe's extended shores; Where nor the labours of the bee

Yield to Hymettus' golden stores,
Nor the green berry of Venafran soil
Swells with a riper flood of fragrant oil.

There Jove his kindest gifts bestows,
There joys to crown the fertile plains;
With genial warmth the winter glows,
And spring with lengthen'd honours reigns;
D 2

Nor Aulon, friendly to the clustering vine,
Envies the vintage of Falernian wine.

That happy place, that sweet retreat,
The charming hills that round it rise,
Your latest hours and mine await:

And when at length your Horace dies,
There the deep sigh thy poet-friend shall mourn,
And pious tears bedew his glowing urn.

VA

ODE VII.

TO POMPEIUS VARUS.

ARUS, from early youth belov'd,
And oft with me in danger prov'd,
Our daring host when Brutus led,
And in the cause of freedom bled,
To Rome and all h☛ guardian powers
What happy chance the friend restores,
With whom I've cheer'd the tedious day,
And drunk its loitering hours away,
Profuse of sweets while Syria shed
Her liquid odours on my head?
With thee I saw Philippi's plain,
Its fatal rout, a fearful scene!

And dropp'd, alas! th' inglorious shield,
Where valour's self was forc'd to yield,
Where soii'd in dust the vanquish'd lay,
And breath'd th' indignant soul away.
But me, when dying with my fear,
Through warring hosts, inwrapp'd in air,
Swift did the god of wit convey;
While thee wild war's tempestuous sea
In ebbing tides drove far from shore,
And to new scenes of slaughter bore.

To Jove thy votive offerings paid,
Beneath my laurel's sheltering shade,
Fatigu'd with war, now rest reclin'd,
Nor spare the casks for thee design'd.
Here joyous fill the polish'd bowl,
With wine oblivious cheer thy soul,
And from the breathing phials pour
Of essenc'd sweets a larger shower.

But who the wreath unfading weaves
Of parsley, or of myrtle leaves?

To whom shall beauty's queen assign
To reign the monarch of our wine?
For Thracian-like I'll drink to-day,
And deeply Bacchus it away.

Our transports for a friend restor'd
Should ev'n to madness shake the board.

I

ODE VIII.

TO BARINE.

F e'er th' insulted powers had shed Their vengeance on thy perjur'd head; If they had mark'd thy faithless truth With one foul nail, or blacken'd tooth, Again thy falsehood might deceive, And I the faithless vow believe.

But when, perfidious, you engage
To meet high heaven's vindictive rage,
You rise, with heighten'd lustre fair,
Of all our youth the public care.

It thrives with thee to be forsworn
By thy dead mother's hallow'd urn:
By heaven, and all the stars that roll
In silent circuit round the pole:
By heaven, and every nightly sign,
By every deathless power divine.

Yes; Venus laughs, the nymphs with smiles,
The simple nymphs! behold thy wiles,
And with the blood of some poor swain
By thy perfidious beauty slain,
Fierce Cupid whets his burning darts,
For thee to wound new lovers' hearts.
Thy train of slaves grows every day,
Infants are rising to thy sway;
And they who swore to break thy chain
Yet haunt those impious doors again.

Thee for their boys the mothers fear,
The frugal father for his heir;
And weeping stands the virgin bride,
In Hymen's fetters lately tied.
Lest you detain, with brighter charms,
Her perjur'd husband from her arms.