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In old decaying dwelling;

Calm too, eschewing all
Ambitious thoughts impelling
To envied palace hall.

Pine-tree that rises higher,
The winds more often shake;
Turrets that most aspire,
The heaviest downfall make;
Mountains that nighest heaven
Their lofty summits raise,
Are those on which the levin
With greatest fury plays.

He who by wise tuition
Has well prepared his mind,
Looks ever for transition-
With fear, if fortune's kind;
With hope, if she disguises
Her face with frowns; for Jove
Who winter drear deyises

Doth winter too remove.

When evil 'tis, does't follow
That 'twill be always so?
Nor always does Apollo
Appear with bended bow.
Anon the Muse's slumbers
His inspiration breaks,
And to melodious numbers
The silent lyre awakes.

Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda

Sobrius aula.

Saepius ventis agitatur ingens

Pinus; et celsae graviore casu

Decidunt turres; feriuntque summos
Fulgura montes.

Sperat infestis, metuit secundis
Alteram sortem bene praeparatum

Pectus. Informes hiemes reducit
Juppiter, idem

Summovet. Non, si male nunc, et olim

Sic erit

quondam cithara tacentem

Suscitat musam, neque semper arcum

Tendit Apollo.

Misfortunes round thee closing
With gallant heart confront;
With fortitude opposing,
Sustain their fiercest brunt.
When favouring wind excelling
In strength becomes a gale,
Regard your canvas swelling,
And wisely shorten sail.

'Minorem' in line II is translated 'drudge' in deference to Mr. Macleane, who says that the word, like oowv, signifies the victim of' or a slave to.' I don't think I need apologise for coining the word 'nardine' used in line 16. If an ointment made from nard were now-a-days in use, that would certainly be the name which English perfumers would give it.

LEAVE asking, my Quintius Hirpinus, what 'tis
That the warlike Cantabrian meditates, or
The Scyths, interposed between us and whom is
The Adrian: and be not solicitous for

The requirements of life, which but little requires.
Our youth and good looks lightly off from us sweep,
And sapless old age baffles wanton desires,
And drives away also our once ready sleep.

Spring blossoms not always retain the same hue:
With one visage not always the vivid moon shines:
Why weary your soul with such constant ado,
And make it the drudge of ne'er-ending designs?

Rebus angustis animosus atque

Fortis appare: sapienter idem

Contrahes vento nimium secundo
Turgida vela.


QUID bellicosus Cantaber et Scythes,
Hirpine Quinti, cogitet, Hadria

Divisus objecto, remittas

Quaerere; nec trepides in usum

Poscentis aevi pauca. Fugit retro
Levis juventas et decor, arida
Pellente lascivos amores

Canitie, facilemque somnum.

Non semper idem floribus est honor
Vernis, neque uno Luna rubens nitet
Voltu: quid aeternis minorem
Consiliis animum fatigas?


Why not, lying carelessly, even as now,

Whether under tall plane-tree or under this pine,
With roses perfuming our tresses of snow,

And anointing ourselves with Assyrian nardine,

Why not drink while we may? no disperser like liquor
Of cankering care. Which boy there will chill
These goblets of fiery Falernian quicker,

Immersing them under yon running stream's rill?

Which will lure from home Lyde, that naughty recluse? Away: bid her come with her ivory lute,

And make haste, and not mind though her hair be all loose: A plain knot, Spartan fashion, will very well suit.

Licymnia is supposed to be another name for Terentia, the beautiful wife of Maecenas.

To my cithern's soft music desire not of me,
That I set the long tale of Numantia's fierce war;
Or of Annibal dire, or Sicilian sea

Empurpled with dark Carthaginian gore:

Or of Lapithae cruel, or over-indulgent

Hylaeus in wine, or those youths whom the might
Of Alcides subdued, that earth-brood who the fulgent
Abode of old Saturn o'erwhelmed with affright.
Thee, rather, in sober historical strains

Of narrating, Maecenas, the office befits,

Caesar's battles, and menacing monarchs in chains Triumphantly dragged by the neck through our streets.

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