Dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aufidus,
Et qua pauper aquæ Daunus agrestium
Regnavit populorum, ex humili potens
Princeps Æolium carmen ad Italos
Deduxisse modos. Sume superbiam
Quæsitam meritis, et mihi Delphica

Lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.

BOOK IV.

ODE I.

TO VENUS.

Dost thou again, O Queen of Love!
These long-forgotten transports move?
Spare me, oh spare, I pray!
The winged years relentless pass,

I am not now what once I was
In Cinara's blest day.

Ah, cruel! thy seductions cease,
And leave my fifty years at peace.

Go where the young with blander prayer Invoke thy seasonable care;

Speed on thy purple wings, And join the revellers who come To Paulus' hospitable home,

Inflict on him thy stings;

For noble is the youth and kind,

And blest with pure and generous mind.

LIBER QUARTUS.

ODE I.

AD VENEREM.

INTERMISSA, Venus, diu,

Rursus bella moves? Parce, precor, precor.

Non sum qualis eram bonæ

Sub regno Cinaræ. Desine, dulcium

Mater sæva Cupidinum,

Circa lustra decem flectere mollibus

Jam durum imperiis. Abi

Quo blandæ juvenum te revocant preces. Tempestivius in domum

Pauli purpureis ales oloribus

Comissabere Maximi,

Si torrere jecur quæris idoneum.

He richly stored with liberal arts

Thy chains shall bind o'er captive hearts,
And spread thy trophies wide;
And if he smile, by thee made bold,
Triumphant o'er his rival's gold,
On Lake Albano's side

Thy marble form shall stand portrayed,
With beams of cedar overlaid.

Nor shall the mingled strain be mute
Of Lyre, and Berecynthian flute,
When youths and virgins round,
Led by the Salian priest shall greet
Thy name, and tread with snowy feet
In choral dance the ground;
While incense steaming to the skies
Attests the bloodless sacrifice.

Me neither gentle woman's love,
Nor that fond cred'lous hope can move,

Which warms each mutual vow;

No more the jolly task be mine

To

pass around the flowing wine,
Or wreathe with flowers my brow.
Yet why, Corinna, tell me why
Do silent tears bedew mine eye?

Namque et nobilis et decens

Et pro sollicitis non tacitus reis,

Et centum puer artium,

Late signa feret militiæ tuæ:

Et quandoque potentior

Largis muneribus riserit æmuli,

Albanos prope te lacus

Ponet marmoream sub trabe Cypria.

Illic plurima naribus

Duces tura, lyræque et Berecyntiæ Delectabere tibiæ

Mistis carminibus, non sine fistula.

Illic bis pueri die

Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum Laudantes, pede candido

In morem Saliûm ter quatient humum.

Me nec femina nec puer

Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui,

Nec certare juvat mero,

Nec vincire novis tempora floribus.

Sed cur, heu! Ligurine, cur

Manat rara meas lacryma per genas

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