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Quo nos cunque feret melior fortuna parente,

Ibimus, o socii comitesque :
Nil desperandum Teucro duce, et auspice Teucro;

Certus enim promisit Apollo
Ambiguan tellure novâ Salamina futuram.

O fortes, pejoraque passi
Mecum sæpe viri, nunc vino pellite curas :

Cras ingens iterabimus æquor.”

Nor always labouring is of showers for us below, So, Plancus, thou be wise and recollect with mellow wine

Grief and the toils of life to banish, whether thee The camp possess refulgent with the glittering standards

shine, Or Tibur shade thee 'neath its thick-leaved canopy. When Teucer Salamis forsook, and from his father fed,

He yet his brow, wet with the juice to Bacchus dear, With coronet of poplar leaves to have intwined is said,

And thus his anxious friends address'd in accents clear : “Wherever fortune, kinder than a parent, bids repair, There let us bend our steps, O friends and comrades

mine: While Teucer leads, your augur Teucer is, avaunt despair !

For clearly has Apollo given his word divine
That an ambiguous Salamis another land should own.

O gallant men, and who have oft worse things with me Endured, the present moment seize in wine your cares to

drown : To-morrow we once more will plough the mighty sea.”

ODE VIII.

AD LYDIAM.

YDIA, dic, per omnes

Te Deos oro, Sybarin cur properas amando
Perdere ? cur apricum
Oderit campum, patiens pulveris atque solis ?

Cur neque militaris
Inter æquales equitat, Gallica nec lupatis

Temperat ora frænis ?
Cur timet flavum Tiberim tangere? cur olivum

Sanguine viperino
Cautiùs vitat? neque jam livida gestat armis

Brachia; sæpe disco,
Sæpe trans finem jaculo nobilis expedito?

Quid latet, ut marinæ
Filium dicunt Thetidis, sub lacrymosa Troja

Funera, ne virilis
Cultus in cædem, et Lycias proriperet catervas?

ODE VIII.

TO LYDIA.

BY

Y all the Gods, my Lydia, pray explain,

Why you to ruin Sybaris impel By loving him? Why he the sunny plain

Detests, who dust and heat can bear so well ? Why ʼmongst his equals cares he not to ride,

A soldier bred; nor, with the bit well arm'd
With teeth, the Gallic courser's mouth to guide ?

At yellow Tiber why is he alarmed?
Than viper's blood with greater caution why

Shuns he the oil? nor on his arm is found
The weapon's bruise, whose fame once rank'd so high

For quoit and dart oft sent beyond the bound? Why hides he, as did Thetis' son they say,

That time when Troy fell overwhelm’d with woe, For fear his man's attire should him betray

And drag to slaughter of the Lycian foe?

ODE IX.

AD THALIARCHUM.

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IDES, ut altâ stet nive candidum

Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus Sylvæ laborantes, geluque

Flumina constiterint acuto? Dissolve frigus, ligna super foco Largè reponens, atque benigniùs Deprome quadrimum Sabinâ,

O Thaliarche, merum diotâ. Permitte Divis cetera : qui simul Stravere ventos æquore fervido Depræliantes, nec cupressi,

Nec veteres agitantur orni.
Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quærere ; et
Quem sors dierum cunque dabit, lucro
Appone: nec dulces amores

Sperne, puer, neque tu choreas,
Donec virenti canities abest
Morosa. Nunc et campus, et areæ,
Lenesque sub noctem susurri

Compositâ repetantur horâ.
Nunc et latentis proditor intimo
Gratus puellæ risus ab angulo :
Pignusque dereptum lacertis,

Aut digito malè pertinaci.

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