Dant alios furiae torvo spectacula Marti ;

Exitio est avidum mare nautis ;

Mixta senum ac iuvenum densentur funera, nullum
Saeva caput Proserpina fugit.

Me quoque devexi rapidus comes Orionis
Illyricis notus obruit undis.

At tu, nauta, vagae ne parce malignus harenae
Ossibus et capiti inhumato

Particulam dare: sic, quodcumque minabitur eurus
Fluctibus Hesperiis, Venusinae
Plectantur silvae te sospite, multaque merces
Unde potest tibi defluat aequo

Ab Iove Neptunoque sacri custode Tarenti.
Neglegis immeritis nocituram

Postmodo te natis fraudem committere? Fors et
Debita iura vicesque superbae

Te maneant ipsum: precibus non linquar inultis,
Tequc piacula nulla resolvent.

Quamquam festinas, non est mora longa; licebit
Iniecto ter pulvere curras.

Some men the Furies give for show to grisly Mars,
The hungry sea to mariners is a grave,

The mingled carcases of young and old are thronged,
No single head stern Proserpine lets escape-
“Me* too, that hurrying comrade of Orion's fall,
The South-wind, whelmed in the Illyrian waves ;
But thou, O sailor, do not grudgingly forbear
To give my bones and my unburied head
A little shifting sand; so, howsoe'er the East

Threats the Hesperian waves, Venusia's woods

Be lashed, whilst thou art safe, and much reward for thee,
From whence it can, be showered by kindly Jove,
And Neptune, Guardian-God of the Tarentine fane.
Dost think it little to commit a sin

Thy innocent posterity shall rue? Mayhap

A righteous due and mocking change await Thyself: my prayer, if left, will not be unavenged; And thee--no offerings will thy guilt absolve:

What though thou hastest? "Twill not long delay; thou

canst,

Dust thrice upon me thrown, speed on thy way."

*The spirit of a shipwrecked man here breaks in and speaks.

U

LIBER I. CARMEN XXIX.

Icci, beatis nunc Arabum invides
Gazis et acrem militiam paras
Non ante devictis Sabaeae
Regibus, horribilique Medo

Nectis catenas. Quae tibi virginum
Sponso necato barbara serviet ?
Puer quis ex aula capillis

Ad cyathum statuetur unctis,

Doctus sagittas tendere Sericas
Arcu paterno? quis neget arduis
Pronos relabi posse rivos

Montibus et Tiberim reverti,

BOOK I. ODE XXIX.

What, Iccius! Araby the blest
Her treasure-stores thou enviest!
And art preparing warfare rude
For Saba's kings not yet subdued!
And for the Median foeman dread
Full many a chain hast riveted!
Say, what barbaric maid shall be,
Her lover slain, a slave to thee?
What courtier youth with perfumed hair
Stand at his post thy cup to bear,
Inured to bend his father's bow
And aim the shaft against the foe?
Who would deny that streams which leap
All headlong down the mountain steep
May upward glide? and Tiber's flow
Turn backward to its source, when thou