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bals, together with your Phrygian horn, whose followers are blind self-love, and arrogance, holding up too high her empty head, and that sort of faith which is communicative of secrets, and is more transparent than glass.

ODE XIX.

OF GLYCERA.'

That he was inflamed with the love of her.

THE cruel mother of the Cupids, and the son of the Theban Semele, and my own lascivious ease, command me to give back my mind to its deserted loves. The splendour of Glycera, shining brighter than the Parian marble, inflames me: her agreeable petulancy, and her countenance, too unsteady to be beheld, inflame me. Venus, attacking me with her whole force, has quitted Cyprus; nor suffers me to sing of the Scythians, and the Parthian, furious when his horse is turned for flight, nor any subject which is not to my present purpose. Here, slaves, place me a live turf; here, place me the vervains and frankincense, with a flagon of two year old wine. Glycera will approach more propitious, after I have sacrificed a victim.

CARMEN XX.

AD MECENATEM.

Macenati, qui se Horatio convivum obtulerat, in-nuit joita deteriore illum vino excipiendum, nisi domo generosum attulerit.

VILE potabis modicis Sabinum.
Cantharis, Græcâ quod ego ipse testâ
Conditum levi, datus in theatro
Cùm tibi plausus,

Care Mæcorsa ques: ut paterni ́
Fluminis ripe, simul et popcosa
Redderet es tibi Vaticani

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Cæcubum et præ

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domitam Caleno

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Tu bibes am tea nec Falernæ

Temperantites, coue Formiani
Poculs calles

CARMEN XXI.

IN DIANAM ET APOLLINEM.

DIANAM tener di ́he virgines :
Intonsum, pueri, aicite Cynthium,

Latonamque supremo
Dilectam penitùs Jovi.

Subintellige, vocis.

ODE XX.

TO MECENAS.

ihe poet intimates to Macenas, who had offered himself to be his guest, that he should only treat 1.m with common wine, unless he himself brought better along with him.

My dear knight Mæcenas, you shall drink at my house the ignoble Sabine wine in sober cups, which I myself sealed up, in a Grecian cask, stored at that time, when so great an applause was given you in the amphitheatre, that the banks of your family river, together with the cheerful echo of the Vatican mountain, returned your praises. You, when you are at home, will drink the Cecuban, and the juice of that grape which is squeezed in the Calenian press: for neither the Falernian vines, nor the Formian hills, season my cups.

ODE XXI.

ON DIANA AND APOLLO.

YE tender virgins, sing Diana; ye boys, sing Apollo, with his unshorn hair, and Latona, passionately beloved by the supreme Jupiter. Ye

Vos lætam fluviis, et nemorum comâ,
Quæcunque aut gelido prominet Algido,
Nigris aut Erymanthi

Silvis, aut viridis Cragi.

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

Fraternâque humerum lyrâ.

Hic bellum lachrymosum, hic miseram famem,
Pestemque, à populo, et principe Cæsare, in

Persas atque Britannos,
Vestrâ motus aget prece.

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CARMEN XXII.

AD ARISTIUM FUSCUM.

Se probitatis conscientiâ et Lalages patrocinio munitum nihil usquam timere.

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

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

Namque me silva lupus in Sabina,
Dum meam canto Lalagen, et ultra
Terminum curis vagor* expeditus,
Fugit inermem.

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(virgins) praise her that rejoices in the rivers, and the thick groves, which project either from the cold Algidos, or the gloomy'woods of Erymanthus, or the green Cragus. Ye boys, extol with equal praises Tempe and Apollo's Delos, and his shoulder adorned with a quiver, and his brother Mercury's lyre. He, prevailed upon by your intercession, shall drive away calamitous war, and miserable famine, and the plague, from the Roman people, and their sovereign Cæsar, to the Persians and the Britons.

ODE XXII.

TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.

That through the protection of conscious innocence, and Lalage's favour, he never feared any thing.

THE man of perfect life, and pure from wickedness, O Fuscus, has no occasion for the Moorish javelins nor bow, nor the quiver, loaded with poisoned darts, whether he is about to make his journey through the sultry Syrtes, or the inhospitable Caucasus, or those places which Hydaspes, celebrated in story, washes. For lately, as I was singing my Lalage, and wandered beyond my usual bounds, devoid of care, a wolf in the Sabine wood fled from me, though I was unarmed: Such a monster, as neither the warlike Apulia nourish

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