Now too, methinks great chieftains soiled With no inglorious dust I see;

And the whole world subdued and foiled, And only Cato's spirit free.

Juno left unrevenged the coast,
With her fled Afric's gods away;
But soon, to appease Jugurtha's ghost,
They came the victor's sons to slay.

What soil made fertile by our gore

Attests not where our soldiers die? To distant Mede our impious war Proclaims the fall of Italy.

Where roll they, river, stream or flood, That ne'er saw battle lost or gained? What shore is free from Roman blood? What sea has not our slaughter stained?

But leave not, Muse, thy mirthful strain, Nor take to moaning dirges grave;

In some cool grotto turn again,

And try and raise a lighter stave.

II.

TO SALLUSTIUS CRISPUS.

O Sallust! foe to treasured gold,

In all the wealth earth's caverns hold

No lustre lies-'tis only bright

When temperance uses it aright.

Kind Proculeius' deeds shall be
Immortal with posterity.

He showed a brother's love, and Fame
On her broad wings will waft his name.

He who his mind can sagely school
Will o'er more wide dominion rule,
Than if he joined to Afric Spain,
And either Carthage owned his reign.

Fell dropsy feeds itself and grows ;
No end to thirst the sufferer knows.
Remove the cause to cure his pains,
And drive the water from his veins.

Virtue, aye differing from the rest,
Strikes from the number of the blest
Phraates, to his throne returned,

And shows the mob the truth they spurned.

The sceptre, and the diadem,

And laurel, she reserves for them

Who learn indifferent to behold

The sight of heaped-up piles of gold.

III.

TO Q. DELIUS.

In trouble's dark hour don't give way to despair,
For, Delius, our days are but brief;

And when you're in luck learn as wisely to bear
The good fortune of life as its grief.

However you live, whether sadly or not,

Or whether, reclined on the grass,

You quaff the best wine in a snug little spot,
And make the days jollily pass:

Where poplar and pine join their branches on high,
And form an acceptable shade,

Where, struggling the bend of the bank to flow by,
The murmuring brook is delayed.

So bring here your perfumes, your wines, and your flowers,
And roses whose bloom is soon fled :

While we've money and youth let's enjoy a few hours
Before the Fates spin out our thread.

You must leave your own groves and your houses, my friend,

And your villa beside the fair river;

And the wealth that you've gathered and never will spend, Your heir will enjoy every stiver.

Are you rich and descended from Inachus old,
Or poor, living out in the air?

It matters not-off you must go when you're told;
No victim will Orcus e'er spare.

IV.

TO XANTHIUS PHOCEUS.

Dear Xanthias, deem it no disgrace

To love a servant-maid ;

Why long ago Briseis' face

The rude Achilles swayed.

And Ajax for a captive's charms-
Tecmessa-heaved his sighs;

Atrides raged 'mid war's alarms
To gain a beauteous prize.

What time the barbarous foe confest

Pelides' might too strong,

And Hector's death to Greeks brought rest,
And fall to Troy ere long.

For all you know, your fair-haired maid
Had parents of great honour;
Her birth was royal, sure she said,

Though Fate was hard upon her.

O never think your love could be
Born of a common race;
So constant, so content is she,
Her mother can't be base.

Her arms I praise, heart-whole and free,

Her ankles smooth, and brow;

O, scandal ne'er can point at me,

I'm just at forty now.

V.

OF LALAGE.

She's all too young to wed and bear

The duties of a wife;

Too soon to yoke her neck so fair

In partnership for life.

Like a young heifer thro' the meads

She wanders at her will,

Now sporting with the calves she speeds,

Now drinking from the rill.

Don't sigh for grapes before they're ripe, There's autumn full in view,

Will change them to a purple type

And dye their livid hue.

Time flies-the years he takes from you

He'll score to Lalage ;

And all unblushing she shall woo

A husband presently.

Was never Chloris half so dear,

Nor wanton Pholoe;

Her snowy shoulders shine as clear

As moonbeams o'er the sea;

Nor Gyges, mixed with maids, his sex

Belied by flowing curl,

Who keen observers will perplex

To say if boy or girl.