Nor always tempt the distant deep, Along the treacherous shore. He that holds fast the golden mean, The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Embittering all his state. The tallest pines feel most the power The bolts that spare the mountain's side And spread the ruin round. The well-informed philosopher Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth And nature laughs again. What if thy heaven be overcast, The dark appearance will not last Expect a brighter sky. The god that strings his silver bow And lays his arrows by. If hindrances obstruct thy way, And let thy strength be seen. Take half thy canvas in. XI. TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS. Don't worry yourself about public affairs, Youth flies like a dream, and all beauty must fade ; The passions that once our breast wantonly swayed, And the slumbers that once were so light. The pride of spring flowers is not always the same, And Luna's face changes its hue : Then why ever schemes and fresh plans do you frame? Come, let us recline 'neath the plane or the pine, A draught of good liquor all cares will dry up. To temper our glowing Falernian a cup Who'll tempt wanton Lyde, too, out of her cot Go tell her to come with her lyre, And her hair all uncombed, but tied up in a knot As fashions of Sparta require. XII. TO MECENAS. Bid me not raise a warlike strain And Lapitha and youths o'ercome Do you, Mæcenas, rather write In prose of Cæsar's long campaigns, The Muse has bidden me extol; There's nought your charmer may not dare- Or wrestle with her comrades fair On great Diana's day. Would you exchange for all the gold That rich Achæmenes possesses, And Phrygia and Arabia hold, One of Licymnia's tresses? For kisses sweet she now appeals, And now denies the cruel elf— What ravished she'd prefer ; she steals At times a kiss herself. XIII. TO A TREE. Woe worth the day he planted you, I'd soon believe that such a pest No crime could frighten him, I say, What all would shun, they still forget He recks not of the rest. Our soldiers Parthian arrows dread, The Roman fetters Parthians scare, But sudden death with stealthy tread Comes on us unaware. How nearly did I visit then Hell's gloomy Queen and nether gods, And all the blest abodes: And Sappho with her mournful lyre, Of seas, and flight, and war. The Shades their tuneful strains revere, What wonder! for their songs enthral Prometheus, too, and Pelops' sire Orion stays his hunter's ire And leaves the chase awhile. XIV. THE COMMON LOT. Ah, Posthumus, old friend, the years are flying fast away, No piety can death, or age, or wrinkled brows delay; Dread Pluto's heart we can't cajole-no sacrifice will save Dread Pluto who his victims guards with Lethe's triple wave; |