Bellum in tuæ spem gratiæ,

Non ut juvencis illigata pluribus

Aratra nitantur mea,

Pecusve Calabris ante sidus fervidum

Lucana mutet pascuis,

Neque ut superni villa candens Tusculi

Circæa tangat mœnia.

Satis superque me benignitas tua

Ditavit: haud paravero

Quod aut avarus ut Chremes terra premam, Discinctus aut perdam nepos.

1

Epode II.-THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.

Happy the man who far from busy toil
Of usury thinks no more,

Whose oxen plough his own paternal soil,
Like mankind's race of yore.

Not as a soldier roused by trumpet loud,
Nor fearing stormy seas;

He shuns the courts, and from the threshold proud
Of wealthy townsmen flees.

So to the lofty poplars leads his vines,

Grown old enough to wed;

The fruitful grafts he to their place assigns,
Pruning the branches dead:

Or watches herds which roam in vales afar,
And constant lowing keep;

Or fresh-pressed honey stores in purest jar,
Or shears the tender sheep.

Or when Autumnus lifts mid fields his brow
With mellow apples crowned;

How pleased to pluck the pears from grafted bough,
Or grapes red gleaming round!

With which, Priapus, he your shrine supplies,

And you who boundaries hold,

Father Silvanus ! Then in thick grass lies,
Or under ilex old.

The whilst the runnels flow in channels deep,
In woods birds plaining sing,

Carmen II.

"Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis, Ut prisca gens mortalium, Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,

Solutus omni fenore,

Neque excitatur classico miles truci,
Neque horret iratum mare,
Forumque vitat et superba civium

Potentiorum limina.

Ergo aut adulta vitium propagine
Altas maritat populos,

Inutilesque falce ramos amputans
Feliciores inserit;

Aut in reducta valle mugientium

Prospectat errantes greges;

Aut pressa puris mella condit amphoris; Aut tondet infirmas oves;

Vel quum decorum mitibus pomis caput Autumnus agris extulit,

Ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pyra,

Certantem et uvam purpuræ,

Qua muneretur te, Priape, et te, pater
Silvane, tutor finium!

Libet jacere modo sub antiqua ilice,

Modo in tenaci gramine.

Labuntur altis interim ripas aquæ,

Queruntur in silvis aves,

And trickling springs solicit gentle sleep,
With waters murmuring.

When Jove the thunderer comes in winter round,
And gathers storms and snows,

He drives bold wild boars on with many a hound To spots where toils oppose.

Or with smooth pole spreads out the fine-wove net, For greedy thrush a snare;

Or booty dear as roving crane may get,

And take the timid hare.

And where is he who would not cast away
Ill cares which love still lends,

When a chaste wife his house, with gentle sway,
And his sweet children tends.

Like Sabine woman or your sunburnt mate,
Apulia's toiling son!

Dry logs her wearied husband's coming wait
The sacred hearth upon.

Or fruitful herds with wattles shutting up,
The milky udder dries;

From cask of this year's wine then fills the cup,
And unbought cheer supplies.

Not Lucrine oysters more can me delight,

Not turbot, nor the scar,

Should winter's wave, by East wind's stormy might,
Here drive them from afar,

Apulia's grouse nor Guinea fowl more please
Or more delight bestow

Than olives which I gather from my trees,
Culled from the richest bough.

Not meadow-sorrel, mallows, plants so good

Fontesque lymphis obstrepunt manantibus,

Somnos quod invitet leves.

At cum tonantis annus hibernus Jovis

Imbres nivesque comparat,

Aut trudit acres hinc et hinc multa cane

Apros in obstantes plagas,

Aut amite levi rara tendit retia,

Turdis edacibus dolos,

Pavidumque leporem et advenam laqueo gruem

Jucunda captat præmia.

Quis non malarum, quas amor curas habet,

Hæc inter obliviscitur?

Quod si pudica mulier in partem juvet

Domum atque dulces liberos,

Sabina qualis aut perusta solibus
Pernicis uxor Apuli,

Sacrum vetustis exstruat lignis focum

Lassi sub adventum viri,

Claudensque textis cratibus lætum

Distenta siccet ubera;

Et horna dulci vina promens dolio,
Dapes inemptas apparet:

Non me Lucrina juverint conchylia
Magisve rhombus aut scari,

pecus

Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum,
Non attagen Ionicus

Jucundior, quam lecta de pinguissimis

Oliva ramis arborum

Aut herba lapathi prata amantis et gravi

Y