BOOK I. ODE I.

Mæcenas, sprung from line of ancient kings,
O both the strength and glory of my life,
There are who joy upon the Olympic course

To have swept along the dust, and shunned the goal
With glowing wheels, and won the noble palm.
Uplifted to the Gods, lords of the world,
This one, if the Quirites' fickle throng
Strive to exalt to Honour's threefold height;
That one, if in his granary he has stored
All that is swept from Lybian threshing floors;
Whoso rejoices with his spade to cleave

His fathers' fields, by Attalus' wealth

Thou ne'er couldst move him, on a Cyprian beam, Sailing with fear, to cut Myrtoan sea;

The South wind wrestling with the Icarian waves, The trader apprehensive praises ease

Laudat rura sui: mox reficit rates
Quassas, indocilis pauperiem pati.
Est qui nec veteris pocula Massici
Nec partem solido demere de die
Spernit, nunc viridi membra sub arbuto
Stratus, nunc ad aquæ lene caput sacræ.
Multos castra juvant et lituo tubæ
Permixtus sonitus bellaque matribus
Detestata. Manet sub Jove frigido
Venator teneræ conjugis immemor,
Seu visa est catulis cerva fidelibus,
Seu rupit teretes Marsus aper plagas.
Me doctarum hederæ præmia frontium
Dis miscent superis, me gelidum nemus
Nympharumque leves cum Satyris chori
Secernunt populo, si neque tibias
Euterpe cohibet nec Polyhymnia
Lesboum refugit tendere barbiton.
Quodsi me lyricis vatibus inseres,
Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.

And scenery of his town; soon his flawed bark
Refits, untutored poverty to bear;

There is who neither spurns old wine in cups,
Nor from the busy day to steal an hour,
His limbs now spread beneath green arbute-tree,
By gentle springhead now of sacred stream.
Many the camp delights, clarion and trump
Mingling their sounds together, and the wars
By mothers hated. Bides 'neath frosty sky
The huntsman, mindless of his tender wife,
Whether a doe his faithful hounds have viewed,
Or Marsian boar has burst the well-wrought nets:
Me ivy-wreath, the prize of learnèd brows,
Blends with the Gods above, me the cool grove
And airy Nymphs with Satyrs in the dance
Do sever from the people, if her pipes
Euterpe stay not, nor Pol'hymnia

Refuse to string the Lesbian maiden's lyre;
But if thou❜lt graft me mid the lyric bards,

With upraised head I'll strike the stars of Heaven.

LIBER I. CARMEN IX.

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus Silvae laborantes, geluque Flumina constiterint acuto.

Dissolve frigus ligna super foco Large reponens atque benignius Deprome quadrimum Sabina, O Thaliarche, merum diota.

Permitte divis cetera, qui simul Stravere ventos aequore fervido Deproeliantes, noc cupressi Nec veteres agitantur orni.

BOOK I. ODE IX.

Seest thou upon Soracte's height

How the deep snow is glistening bright? The labouring woods scarce bear their load, Sharp frost has stopped the rivers' flood.

Dispel the cold; pile higher still
Logs on the hearth, and with a will
Draw forth from jar of Sabine mould,
Thaliarchus, wine full four years old.

Leave to the Gods the rest; when they
Upon the boiling main allay
The battling winds, nor cypress, nor
Old mountain ash is battered more.

S