BOOK III.-ODE XXIII. TO PHIDYLE. IF, Phidyle, thy hands thou raise The victim that devoted grows Midst Algidum's o'erspreading snows, And holm-oaks bright, or sportive feeds In sweet Albanus' verdant meads, May stain the Pontiff's knife; Not thine with blood of beasts profuse For guilty deeds to seek excuse, While crowning Gods of lesser might With rosemary and myrtle slight In innocence of life. Immunis aram si tetigit manus, Non sumptuosa blandior hostia Mollivit aversos Penates Farre pio et saliente mica. What though thy hand hath empty touched The altar's edge; no victim, clutched E LIBER II.-ODE XVIII. NON ebur neque aureum Mea renidet in domo lacunar, Non trabes Hymettias Premunt columnas ultima recisæ Africa; neque Attali Ignotus heres regiam occupavi, Nec Laconicas mihi Trahunt honestæ purpuras clientæ. At fides et ingeni Benigna vena est, pauperemque dives Me petit: nihil supra Deos lacesso nec potentem amicum Largiora flagito, Satis beatus unicis Sabinis. Truditur dies die, Novæque pergunt interire lunæ. BOOK II.-ODE XVIII. AGAINST AVARICE AND LUXURY. No roof of ivory or gold, Within my humble dwelling gleams; Nor do I with an upstart's voice But mine is probity of mind, A fertile muse that always flows; Ah! more than this! from Gods above |