Happy the man whose slender board displays The salt's bright cask, his sire's in bygone days; Nor fear, nor avarice' ever restless throes, Invade his couch, or break his light repose.

Of short-enduring strength, why then pursue
Too vast attempt? why seek the varied hue
Of foreign skies?-self-exiled though we roam,
Who flies himself though country's fled and
home?

Distempered care climbs ships begirt with brass, And ling'ring haunts the squadron's glitt❜ring mass; More swift than stags, and swifter than the wind, That sweeps the sky, nor leaves a cloud behind.

The mind enjoying present good, unscanned Leaves future ill; and, mingling laughter bland Attempers grief-nor aught's entirely blest― Some part defective and some flaw confest.

Untimely death checked great Achilles' course, Long dwindling age consumed old Tithon's force; And time indulgent, may to me extend

The span, perchance not granted to my friend.

Te greges centum Siculæque circum Mugiunt vaccæ, tibi tollit hinnitum Apta quadrigis equa, te bis Afro

Murice tinctæ

Vestiunt lanæ; mihi parva rura et Spiritum Graiæ tenuem Camenæ Parca non mendax dedit et malignum Spernere vulgus.

Rich flocks unnumbered, and Sicilian kine

Around thee low-the fleet-trained courser thine

His welcome neighing, fleeces steeped anew
Clothe thee in robes of Afric's rarest hue.

Fate not belying early mystery's lot,
To me propitious, gave this little spot,
A vein of Greece' enraptured muse inspired,
And 'gainst the ignoble crowd my bosom fired.

LIBER III-CARMEN XXIV.

IN AVAROS.

INTACTIS opulentior

Thesauris Arabum et divitis India

Cæmentis licet occupes

Tyrrhenum omne tuis et mare Apulicum ;

Si figit adamantinos

Summis verticibus dira Necessitas

Clavos, non animum metu,

Non mortis laqueis expedies caput.

Campestres melius Scythæ,

Quorum plaustra vagas rite trahunt domos,

Vivunt et rigidi Getæ,

Immetata quibus jugera liberas

BOOK III.-ODE XXIV.

TO THE AVARICIOUS.

THOUGH, richer than Arabia's caves
Or India's fabled land,

Thy palace courts the Tuscan waves,
That rippling wash the strand:

If Fate in loftiest domes enfix

Her adamantine nail,

Death's snares with all thy joy will mix; Thy mind with fear shall quail.

More blest wild Scythia's roving bands, Their only home, the Wain;

And Thracians rude, whose lordless lands No boundaries contain,