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BOOK IV.-ODE XII.

TO VIRGIL.

Sort Spring's attendant Thracian gales, Now fill the gently-swelling sails,

And smoothe rude Ocean's brow: The meads, a stubborn mass no more, Nor now the wintry torrents roar,

O'erswol'n by storm and snow.

Th' unhappy bird, with wailing cry,
Mourning Itys' fate, on high

Prepares her dripping nest; (Of Cecrops' house the endless shame; For impiously she 'venged the flame

That fired the tyrant's breast.)

The shepherds ply the tuneful reed,
As thriving flocks around them feed,

And rest on earth's bright sward ; For aye the rural God they praise, Who o'er Arcadia's mountains strays,

Its herds' delighted guard.

Adduxere sitim tempora, Virgili : Sed pressum Calibus ducere Liberum Si gestis, juvenum nobilium cliens, Nardo vina merebere.

Nardi

parvus onyx eliciet cadum, Qui nunc Sulpiciis accubat horreis, Spes donare novas largus, amaraque Curarum eluere efficax.

Ad quæ si properas gaudia, cum tua Velox merce veni: non ego te meis Immunem meditor tingere poculis, Plena dives ut in domo.

Verum pone moras, et studium lucri, Nigrorumque memor, dum licet, ignium Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem: Dulce est desipere in loco.

The thirsty year leads on its train;
And, Virgil, if the juice you'd drain

Of Cales' fertile vine;
Oh thou! whom noblest youth observe,
Thy costly spikenard must deserve
In turn my

choicest wine.

a

The snowy vase with unguent stored
Shall draw a cask from Galba's hoard,

Replete with generous power; 'Twill give fresh kindling hopes to spring, And o'er dull care its opiate fling

To cheat the gloomy hour.

If hasting such delights to share,
Thy tribute to the banquet bear,

Bright with th' o'erflowing soul;
Nor I, as plenteous wealth were mine,
A chargeless feast for thee design,

Flushed with my sparkling bowl.

Now wealth's pursuit and dull delay Throw off--and mindful while you may

Of funeral piles' dark gleam; With mingled folly for awhile Grave Wisdom's sterner mood beguile,

Mirth’s 'scapes in turn beseem.

LIBER. I.-CARMEN IV.

AD L. SESTIUM.

SOLVITUR acris hiems grata vice veris et Favoni,
Trahuntque siccas machinæ carinas,
Ac neque jam stabulis gaudet pecus, aut arator

igni,
Nec prata canis albicant pruinis.

Jam Cytherea choros ducit Venus imminente

Luna; Junctæque Nymphis Gratiæ decentes Alterno terram quatiunt pede, dum graves Cyclopum Vulcanus ardens urit officinas.

BOOK I.-ODE IV.

TO SESTIUS.

The step of sweetly-breathing Spring

Hath made stern Winter smile:
The beach with sailors' shouts doth ring,

As ships glide off the pile.
The flocks no more in folds delight:

No hearth the goodwife plies:
Nor now in meads the hoar-frost white

In dazzling brightness lies.

Now Cytherea leads the dance

'Neath Luna's genial ray, And Nymphs, with blushing graces glance

Their feet in constant play.
Whilst Vulcan in his fiery hall,

From forge to furnace goes;
And loud the Cyclops' hammers fall,

In quick and sparkling blows.

G

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