The Gods their kind protection yield,
My pious muse the Gods enshield,

With grateful lays adored;
Here from o’erflowing horn shall rise
Rich plenty deck'd with rustic guise,

In kind abundance poured.

Here shalt thou to sweet vales retire,
Secluded from fierce Sirius' fire,

And sing in Teian strain,
The chaste Penelope's lament,
And Circe, wily sorc’ress, bent

The wand'rer to retain.

Here shalt thou drain the cooling wine Of temp?rate Lesbos' choicest vine,

Nor dread th’enliv'ning bowl; Nor Semeleian Bacchus' rage Shall, in rude broils, fierce Mars engage,

Nor rouse the madd’ning soul.

EPODON LIBER.-CARMEN XV.

AD NEÆRAM.

Nox erat, et coelo fulgebat Luna sereno

Inter minora sidera; Cùm tu, magnorum numen læsura Deorum,

In verba surabas mea,
Arctiús atque hederâ procera astringitur ilex,

Lentis adhærens brachiis:
Dum pecori lupus, et nautis infestus Orion

Turbaret hybernum mare,
Intonsosque agitaret Apollinis aura capillos,

Fore hunc amorem mutuum.
O dolitura meâ multum virtute, Neæra !

Nam, si quid in Flacco viri est,
Non feret assiduas potiori te dare noctes,

Et quæret iratus parem;
Nec semel offensæ cedet constantia formæ,

Si certus intrârit dolor.

EPODE XV.

TO NEÆRA.

Twas night! in the heavens the moon's silver

beam Shone brightly, o'erpeering each star's 'minished

gleam; When, insult how great! to the gods lightly

shown, You swore, as the vow in fond accents I spoke,

I More closely around me your ling’ring arms

thrown, Than ivy encircles the tall mountain's oak; Whilst the wolf rends the flock, whilst Orion's

despight 'Gainst the sailor excites to wild fury the sea ; Whilst the breeze 'midst Apollo's bright locks

wantons light, So long should thy bosom beat only for me!

At tu, quicunque es felicior, atque meo nunc

Superbus incedis malo;
Sis pecore et multâ dives tellure licebit,

Tibique Pactolus fluat;
Nec te Pythagoræ fallant arcana renati,

Formâque vincas Nirea,
Eheu translatos aliò moerebis amores!

Ast ego vicissim risero.

But thou, whoe'er now in her loveliness blest, Who proudly rejoicest, in scorn at my woe; Though wide thy domain, though by fortune

carest, For thee e'en the golden Pactolus should flow, Though wise ʼmongst the wisest, than Nireus more

fair, Inconstant, she 'll leave thee alone to despair.