Here a live turf and vervain bring;
Here, boys, around the incense fling,
And from the store

Full goblets pour

Of two-year-old; a victim slain,
The maid may chance relent again.

ODE XX.

TO MECENAS.

VILE Sabine wine shall only be,
Dear knight Mæcenas, quaff'd by thee
In modest goblets here;

In Grecian cask 'twas stor'd away,
Seal'd by myself, the very day
When in the theatre

So loudly did thy plaudits sound;

That e'en the banks themselves that bound

Thine own paternal stream,

And echo, as in sport it ran,

Resounded from Mount Vatican

The laudatory theme.

Cæcubum, et prælo domitam Caleno

Tu bibes uvam: mea nec Falernæ

Temperant vites, neque Formiani

Pocula colles.

CARMEN XXI.

IN DIANAM ET APOLLINEM.

DIANAM teneræ dicite virgines;

Intonsum, pueri, dicite Cynthium;

Latonamque supremo

Dilectam penitùs Jovi.

Vos lætam fluviis, et nemorum comâ,

Quæcunque aut gelido prominet Algido,

Nigris aut Erymanthi

Silvis, aut viridis Cragi:

Old Cæcuban, or nothing less

Than grapes from the Calenian press,
I know you drink at home:

But neither with Falernian vines,

Nor Formia's costly mountain-wines,
My cups attemper'd foam.

ODE XXI.

TO DIANA AND APOLLO.

YE tender virgins, Dian sing;

Ye boys, make unshorn Cynthius your theme;

And glory to Latona bring,

So passionately lov'd by Jove supreme.

Ye maids, sing her who streamlets loves,

And the dense woods that are projecting seen

From cooling Algidus, or groves

Of gloomy Erymanth, or Cragus green :

Vos Tempe totidem tollite laudibus,
Natalemque, mares, Delon Apollinis ;
Insignemque pharetrâ

Fraternâque humerum lyrâ.

Hic bellum lacrymosum, hic miseram famem, Pestemque, a populo et principe Cæsare, in Persas atque Britannos

Vestrâ motus aget prece.

CARMEN XXII.

AD ARISTIUM FUSCUM.

INTEGER vitæ, scelerisque purus,
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu,
Nec venenatis gravidâ sagittis,
Fusce, pharetrâ.

Sive per Syrtes iter æstuosas,
Sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum, vel quæ loca fabulosus

Lambit Hydaspes.

Tempe, ye boys, and Delos bright,

Apollo's birthplace, laud with equal quire; And celebrate his shoulder 'dight

With his own quiver, and his brother's lyre.

He, by your prayers at length o'ercome,
Shall to the Persians and the Britons, far
From princely Cæsar and from Rome,

Sad famine drive, and plague, and mournful war.

ODE XXII.

TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.

THE man, my Fuscus, who hath been
Of blameless life, and pure from sin,
No Moorish bow or javelin needs,
Or quiver fill'd with poison'd reeds.

Whether his course about to press
O'er Caucasus, all shelterless,
The sultry Syrtes, or the shore
Fabled Hydaspes washes o'er.

G